#need that feral dragon like water

[abyssconqueror]

quite frankly i’m still here

[sleep-0-deprived]

In eve’s garden (Yandere dragon hybrid! x human! male reader~!) ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

WC:. 1.2K

content warnings : smut, porn no plot, Amab reader, bottom reader x top oc, dark content, dub con, belly bulges, monster fucking, no protection, yandere content, obsessive themes, mentioned kidnapping at the end, virginity loss, anal crampies (reader receiving), marking <33

Taglist: @miyaisastar @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @yyuinaa @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives @littlelilithsposts @gayaristocrat @whatupbishs

A/N: from th’a poll th’a most requested was yandere Oc works, it’s very short thoo~ ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა

Life is a funny trickle isn’t it? One moment you’re laying around in your garden with your tunic all undone at the top messing with your flowers and the next a dragon like man is on top of you, taking your opened tunic as a chance to ravage you.

you had heard other villagers talking of a dragon being spotted near by but you had never expected to be the creatures target.

Your back was planted firm to the ground whining and hissing when the man bites at your nipples through your thin tunic with his saliva as hot as water from the fresh springs on your skin leaving you in a state of bliss under him.

“Mine- could smell you from so far away”

he would breath out and let his hands roam you, gripping you like a piece of treasure to behold.

His claws pierce the fabric of your pants making them loose around your hips with your cock pressing to the torn cloth, your hands pull at the grass and your eyes tread down lazily onto the creature.

“Sto—ah~”

Your words hang unheard in the air with your thighs quivering on either side of his hot body, you feel a massive bulge pressing up against you rubbing against your tummy.

the scales on his neck brush against the tender flesh of your pecks. He finally slips his hands up your tunic under the fabric and onto your bare skin.

The contact sends shivers up your spine the sound of tearing fills your head when his claws rip off your tunic exposing your bare torso to the blue sky’s above with the cool spring air pressing against your hardened peaks caressing the now warmed flesh.

The dragon hybrids tail sways behind him curling in an eager manner when his slit black pupils look up at you they dilate, his mouth finds its way onto your Adam’s apple and gives it a nibble pressing his shark lime tear to your skin hard enough to leave an little red indent showing he was there.

the feeling of hands gripping your love handles starts again. He gropes you feeling your body up while his face stays buried in your neck sniffing in your scent like a feral animal in rut.

His horns prick at your neck like a bull nudging its mate, in most senses that’s what the creature was taking you for, it’s mate.

“Needa mate you- need to give you my seed”

“Wait- don’t”

The hybrids claws tear away your pants leaving you naked in the garden with your thighs on either side of his hips.

the massive bulge smushes against your half hard cock dry humping you while precum seeps through his pants making a slick mess between your shared bodies, god how you hoped none of the other villagers would see you.

His face stays in your neck never leaving while his sticky palms undo his pants letting a meaty cock press to his stomach.

he looks down at you with his red scaled wings flapping harshly on his back, his tip was all flushed with a shiny pearl running down the underside of his base— oh there was no way you were going to be able to take this all.

Your thigh gets lifted up pressed to your chest with him holding your cheek pinched open spitting and licking at your hole in attempt to loosen it, midway through the creature growls annoyed at the lack of opening for his cock.

He presses the tip forwards pushing it inside you half way, your hymen tearing wide open feeling like a sharp pain shooting through your whole body making your eyes all glossy and wide.

“Ow-ow fuck~!”

Your knee bumped your chest sobbing underneath him, a bulge presses out of your stomach once he fully sinks himself inside you, your rim puckers up tight and you can feel ever pulse, throb, vein, everything his cock does inside of you.

Your stomach caves in when you breathe slipping your hands further up and gripping the ground for dear life getting dirt all under your nails.

As soon as he starts rocking his hips your insides feel bruised, already worn around him and as if your neck was a safe haven for the creature its face gets shoved back into it pressing you down harsh into the soil leaving no room for your to escape it.

The pudgy hot tip starts pressing your prostate harshly making your cock fully stiffen against your stomach.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders gripping at his smooth black hair while the dragon grunts and huffs on top of you, one of your legs rested up on his hip and the other bend to your chest making his angle hit inside you deep.

Your tears drying up but you pout beneath him when he bites a little to hard on your nape nearly bring blood piercing only the top layer of flesh.

“Gonna give you all my pups- wanna make you a mama”

Your hole flutters around him at that statement, your eyes half lidded rolling into the back of your skull almost trying to see your own brain with how deep he was fucking you. His cock was trying to look for a womb to plant itself into wanting to make eggs inside you.

The sound of skin on skin slapping around in your garden got louder with your ass cheeks all tender from his hips constantly slapping against you.

you had given up on fighting the creature instead just accepting your fate, you can hear the deep mewls that left his lips and you could feel how close he was, you weren’t far behind with your cock ready to explode.

A clawed hand reaches down palming your cock between thrusts making sure to move in rhythm with the constant fucking. Another hand pressing down on the bulge in your stomach making you feel how deep you were taking it.

The mix of your blood and his spit lubed you up enough to make a squelch when he rolled his hips nailing your prostate head on over and over.

“Mh right theree!”

Your orgasm his you first heaving and arching under him with your thigh wrapping around his hip taking its cock deliciously when he hits your sweet spot one last time. Your gummy walls milking the orgasm from him.

Your sperm spews from your eager tip getting everywhere in his palm making a mess, his hand works you through your orgasm while you lay with your nose scrunched up.

The dragons rough tail wraps around your waist lifting you closer to him letting the smell of flowers and the intense coupling fill the air leaving the creature pleased when his hips jerk one last time.

It felt like molten lava started pouring inside you making you feel stuffed to the brim with a swollen tummy, your nails dig harder against his scales while his wings lay down relaxing as a wave of calm washes over him.

You can feel his tip pulsing into your prostate. Right when you thought it was all over he lifts you up still on his cock with you fully naked for any and all to see— he was taking you to his home he was taking you into the mountains to his cave.

“Never gonna let you leave- all mine, gonna raise such pretty lil dragon pups with you”

he purrs into your ear sealing your fate.

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

Sylus going into an uncontrollable frenzy but it's his dragon rut, compelling him to breed MC over and over again until she lays his eggs. Rinse repeat until his rut is over. How's that?

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

— 𝑺𝒚𝒍𝒖𝒔

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐃 beneath his skin again.

Not the kind that sweat could cool, or water could soothe, or even pain could drown.

This heat came from somewhere deeper—older. It had lived in his marrow since birth, smoldering quiet and patient, waiting for the right season to ignite and consume him from the inside out.

It always started the same.

A flicker behind his ribs.

A dull throb in the back of his skull.

A tension in his chest, like some ancient chain was being pulled tight—one link at a time.

Then came the ache.

And the ache—gods help him—never fucking let up.

Now, it curled low in his belly—coiled, pulsing—like something inside him had begun to stir.

Something wrong.

Something ancient.

Something with teeth and claws and no fucking concept of mercy.

Sylus clenched his jaw and shifted against the cold stone wall, his shackled wrists dragging with a metallic scrape that scraped raw. The iron cuffs had scorched him the moment he locked them on—runes hissing to life with the sharp sting of burning flesh.

He hadn’t flinched.

Pain was easy.

Pain, he knew.

It was the need he couldn’t fucking stand.

His cock had been hard for forty hours. Maybe longer. He’d stopped counting somewhere between agony and obsession. It throbbed with every heartbeat—each pulse a cruel, relentless reminder of what he couldn’t have.

What he shouldn’t have.

Not when wanting meant claiming.

Not when claiming meant breaking her open and filling her until her body bowed beneath the beast clawing up his spine.

A guttural sound tore from his throat—half snarl, half sob. He dropped his head back against the stone wall and stayed there, breathing through clenched teeth, every muscle trembling from the effort of holding still.

He’d built this chamber with his own hands. Designed it not just as a tomb—but a prison. A sanctuary. The only place he trusted to hold him when the rut came raging.

Not because the chains would hold.

They wouldn’t.

Not forever.

But down here, buried beneath the world, there was no one to hurt but himself. No one for the dragon to scent. To claim. To ruin in the name of instinct.

No one like her.

Gods.

He hadn’t seen her in three days—and he could still fucking taste her.

Not literally.

Not yet.

But her scent clung to him like a sin he couldn’t wash off. Her laughter echoed in the hollow pit of his chest like a memory carved too deep. The shape of her lived beneath his skin—hips, lips, the delicate slope of her throat—and when he closed his eyes, she was there.

Always.

Fucking. There.

Kneeling between his legs.

Whimpering his name.

Begging him to let go.

He could see it.

Her hair a mess. Her lips swollen. Her legs trembling around him. Marked. Bitten. Bred.

The image slammed into him like a punch to the ribs. He growled and jerked forward, chains rattling violently as he doubled over, his cock throbbing so hard it hurt—leaking, aching, demanding.

The pain in his gut twisted sharp, laced with pressure, instinct, and the unshakable, soul-deep knowledge that—

She was meant to carry him.

She was his mate.

Not by choice.

Not even by fate.

By blood.

By biology.

By the old, feral magic running through his veins—twisting him into something not quite human.

Something older. Crueler. Hungrier.

The rut was sacred to dragons. That’s what the archives called it.

A biological imperative.

A rite of claiming.

A holy tradition woven in blood and instinct.

Sacred, his ass.

There was nothing holy about what he wanted to do to her.

Not when he knew—knew—what would happen the moment his skin touched hers.

He wouldn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

The first time would be brutal.

Fast.

Desperate.

The kind of fucking that left bruises shaped like his hands. His teeth. That filled her so deep she couldn’t walk. So hard she couldn’t think of anyone but him.

And then he’d do it again.

And again.

Until her belly swelled with his seed.

Until her voice gave out and her eyes glazed with surrender.

Until she looked at him like he was the only thing she’d ever worshipped.

Until she was ruined.

And even then, it wouldn’t be enough.

His rut wouldn’t stop until he knew—down to the final flicker of instinct—that she’d never walk away.

Not physically.

Not emotionally.

Not spiritually.

She wouldn’t just belong to him.

She’d be him.

Not a lover.

Not a partner.

A mate.

His.

Down to her blood.

Down to her bones.

Down to the place inside her that only he would ever touch again.

He shuddered and let his head fall between his knees, breath coming in shallow, broken gasps. Every inhale stoked the fire. Every exhale whispered her name like a curse he couldn’t shake.

He hated himself for it.

Hated the way his body betrayed him. Hated the way his mind crumbled at the mere thought of her—how she flickered through him like a ghost he couldn’t exorcise.

He should’ve told her weeks ago.

Should’ve warned her.

Should’ve shoved her away the first time she looked at him like he wasn’t a monster.

But she hadn’t looked away.

And gods help him—She still hadn’t.

And that terrified him more than the rut itself.

Because Sylus could survive the fire. He could survive the hunger, the pain, the madness.

But her?

She’d burn.

And he’d be the one to light the fucking match.

There came a point when pain stopped feeling like pain. He wasn’t sure when he crossed it—somewhere between the second nosebleed and the moment his claws shredded the inside of his own palm.

Now it was just static.

White noise behind his eyes. A low, bone-deep buzz that never stopped.

Sylus didn’t know how long he’d been down here. There was no light. Only heat. A trembling, relentless fever under his skin that refused to break.

His thoughts came fractured.

Blurred.

Sometimes, he remembered who he was. Other times, all he remembered was her.

She slipped through his mind in pieces—The slope of her shoulders when she turned away. The flicker of her pulse when she stood too close. The way she lingered after speaking… like she was waiting.

Waiting for him to say something more—

Something he didn’t know how to give without destroying it. Without destroying her.

She was gentleness wrapped in fire.

A miracle in mortal skin.

And his body was tearing itself apart just to reach her.

Sylus shifted against the wall and felt the slick drag of his own blood down his thigh—warm, wet, sticky.

It wasn’t hers.

Not yet.

But his rut didn’t know the difference. It just wanted.

It wanted her wet and open and trembling.

Wanted her split wide and sobbing beneath him, nails clawing at his shoulders as he poured himself into her again and again—until the beast finally stopped howling.

But she wasn’t here.

Not really.

Still, his mind conjured her like a fever dream he couldn’t wake from.

Sometimes she whispered his name. Sometimes she knelt in front of him, voice trembling, pupils blown wide, legs parted in offering.

Sometimes—gods—he could feel her fingers on his chest. Light. Lingering. Like she sensed what was happening to him even from miles away.

But the worst was her scent.

That delicate, devastating blend of clean skin and soft things.

She smelled like warmth.

Like home.

And now, that memory was tangled with blood and sweat and fire—and it was driving him fucking insane.

His hips jerked without warning, his cock aching—flushed dark, the head slick from hours of helpless arousal.

He’d stopped pretending.

Stopped trying to ignore the instinct when every part of him was already preparing for her.

For claiming.

For ruin.

A low growl tore from his throat as he yanked at the chains again—not to break free. He didn’t want freedom. He didn’t trust what he’d become beyond this wall.

He just needed something.

Friction. Resistance. A reason to stay tethered.

But all he felt was her.

Her thighs wrapped tight around his waist. Her voice breaking into that helpless little moan when he bottomed out. The way she’d arch for him—like her body was crafted for this. For him.

The sound of skin slapping skin.

The wet drag of her cunt sucking him in—milking him.

Demanding more.

Always more—

No.

No.

His head slammed back against the wall with a sickening crack. Blood spilled over his lips—he’d bitten straight through them.

He didn’t care.

“Stop,” he rasped into the dark. “Stop showing me things that aren’t real.”

But the tomb stayed silent.

And his mind?

His mind wouldn’t shut up.

Now she was on top of him.

Riding him slow.

Cruel.

Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. Her mouth brushed his ear, warm and sinful.

“I want to feel you lose control.”

He made a sound he didn’t recognize. A broken gasp. A choked cry. He curled in on himself, yanking at the cuffs until bone scraped against iron.

This was what the rut did.

It wasn’t just heat.

Wasn’t even lust anymore.

It was hunger.

Soul-deep.

All-consuming.

A compulsion so violent, sanity wasn’t just out of reach—It was extinct.

And it would only end one way.

With her under him. Screaming his name.

Covered in bruises. Flooded with seed. Marked by promises he’d never be able to take back.

She’d never walk the same.

She’d never be clean again.

She’d be his.

And some feral part of him—ancient, ugly, honest—rejoiced in it.

He was shaking now.

Every muscle locked.

Every breath too shallow to soothe.

His body strained to shift—scales rippling beneath skin, claws itching to break free—but he kept it buried.

Barely.

Just barely.

He wanted to weep.

Instead, he laughed.

A jagged, broken sound—splintered like bone. Echoing off stone like a death rattle.

This was what he was.

At his core.

Not a soldier. Not a protector. Not even a man.

A beast.

And if she walked through that door—if she made the mistake of touching him—

He’d take her.

Ruin her.

He would fucking take her.

And the worst part?

She’d let him.

He was lying on the floor when a shift happened.

Face pressed to cold stone. Breath shallow. Muscles locked tight from hours of holding back the monster gnawing at his insides.

The pulse in his cock throbbed in cruel rhythm with the one hammering behind his eyes. His throat was raw from all the things he hadn’t screamed.

He blinked—slow. Sluggish.

Something shifted.

Not light. No—light didn’t touch this place.

This was deeper.

Like the chamber exhaled. And in that breath, he felt it.

A trace.

So faint it could’ve been nothing.

So familiar it hurt.

Not heat. Not fire.

Something clean.

His fingers twitched.

Jaw clenched.

The scent was impossible. It didn’t belong here. It shouldn’t exist here.

But he knew it.

His body recognized it before his brain did—his hips shifted. His mouth parted. A low, helpless whimper dragged from his throat like confession.

No.

No, no, no.

His eyes snapped open.

The hallucinations were getting worse.

More vivid.

More cruel.

This one smelled like her skin after a storm. Like the smile she wore when she thought he wasn’t watching. Like the place behind her ear he dreamed of biting, licking—claiming.

He froze.

Eyes wide.

Chest barely rising.

Because hallucinations didn’t move.

And this one did.

Footsteps. Soft. Hesitant.

The kind made by someone who wasn’t afraid.

Yet.

His entire body went rigid.

The chains groaned.

He told himself it wasn’t real.

Couldn’t be.

She’d never make it past the outer wards—and if she had... gods, if she had—she wouldn’t be walking. She’d be running. Screaming.

Gone.

But the footsteps kept coming. Closer.

And then—

“...Sylus?”

His heart stopped.

That—

That wasn’t a hallucination.

He didn’t imagine it. He couldn’t have.

Her voice didn’t slither through his head like the others had. It cut.

Clean through the fog. Sharp. Trembling. Real.

Too fucking real.

He rolled onto his side, breath caught behind his ribs.

No.

No, she couldn’t be here.

Except—

There she was.

Standing just inside the threshold. Frozen mid-step, like even she had just realized what a mistake it was.

Hands hovering. Eyes wide. Barely breathing.

She looked like an angel—trapped in a cathedral built to worship monsters.

His monster.

His gaze dragged over her—slow, hungry—like it didn’t belong to him anymore.

Because it didn’t.

Not now. Not with her standing there, real and soft and so fucking close.

She hadn’t changed.

Not even a little.

But he had.

He’d rotted from the inside out.

Burned himself down to bone and built new flesh from fire and madness and her name.

And now she was here—and it was too much.

Too fast.

Too bright.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

No words.

No breath.

Only ruin and recognition.

Then he turned his face away.

“Get out,” he rasped. His voice scraped like gravel. “You need to leave.”

She didn’t move.

She didn’t fucking move.

His chest convulsed.

And then—he felt it.

The moment his rut caught her scent.

It struck like lightning through bone.

The shift was instant. The fire inside him exploded, surging up his spine, locking his jaw, forcing his claws to extend with a sharp, sickening crack. His back arched against the wall. His cock—already hard—throbbed violently, leaking, twitching, aching.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Clenched his teeth so tight his molars groaned in protest.

“Don’t come closer.”

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a prayer.

Still, she came.

One step. Then another.

And with each one, the space between them unraveled—disappearing like it had never existed.

He could hear her breathing now. Could feel it in the air, trembling and human and hers.

It was her.

Not a hallucination.

Not a dream.

Not some cruel fantasy conjured by a brain boiled alive in rut.

She was here.

And the weight of that truth shattered something inside him.

He broke.

Not with a roar. Not with violence.

With silence.

Everything inside him folded inward—collapsed beneath the gravity of her presence.

The dragon stilled.

The fire raged... quieter.

Because she was real. And she was close. And he was no longer chained by stone—

Or rune.

Or duty.

Or guilt—

He was chained by her.

By the soul-ripping, terrifying truth that he wanted this.

Not just the rut. Not just the claiming.

Her.

He wanted to drag her to the floor and bury himself so deep inside her she forgot her own name. Wanted to make her scream, beg, break—until her voice replaced every sin etched into his soul.

He wanted to knot her.

Mark her.

Own her.

And he couldn’t.

Because he loved her.

And if he touched her now—he wouldn’t stop.

He’d never stop.

He wouldn’t just ruin her body.

He’d ruin everything.

She stepped closer.

Not boldly. Not recklessly. Not like someone who didn’t know fear—

But like someone who knew him.

And that made it worse.

Unbearable.

Sylus kept his gaze fixed on the floor, terrified that if he looked up—the dragon would see her.

And forget who it belonged to.

Forget the silence. The restraint. The bloodied palms and swallowed prayers.

Forget every line he’d carved into his soul to keep her safe.

Her footsteps echoed across the stone—soft at first. Then louder. Like even the walls had begun to listen.

He tasted copper.

His lips had split open again—reopened by the tension knotted in his jaw like wire.

She was close now.

Too close.

He could feel the air shift around her. Pressure folding inward. Like gravity had changed its allegiance. Like the chamber had always been waiting for her—to step inside it.

To fill it.

Like even the room knew she belonged here.

“Sylus,” she whispered.

Her voice wavered. Just barely.

He closed his eyes.

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” she said, gentle and unsure. “I know that.”

He didn’t answer. What else could he give her now but silence?

“But I couldn’t find you,” she continued. “No one could. You disappeared.”

Her breath hitched—soft, cracked.

“I thought… I thought something had happened to you.”

He almost laughed.

Something had happened to him.

She happened.

Every time she entered a room—every time she looked at him with those soft, searching eyes—something inside him shifted.

Shifted until it cracked.

Until it wasn’t just a feeling anymore—but a thing with wings and claws and a single, maddening purpose:

To take her.

To keep her.

To fuck her so deep into the stone that the world forgot her name and remembered only his.

He inhaled sharply through his nose. It burned like punishment.

“I didn’t mean to invade,” she added quickly, her voice fraying at the edges, soft as worn linen. “I just… I couldn’t stay away.”

Gods.

She meant it.

She hadn’t come here out of recklessness.

Or curiosity.

She came because she felt something pulling her. Because the string tying them together had started to fray—and she couldn’t bear the unraveling.

Because somewhere deep down, she knew—he was coming apart in this tomb.

And her absence was the blade.

Sylus’s shoulders trembled.

“I want to help you,” she said. “Please. Let me help you.”

No.

No.

No—

“You can’t,” he croaked.

His voice wasn’t human anymore. It was a rasp of shredded control, every word chewed raw by the beast he kept caged inside.

She dropped to her knees in front of him.

He felt it like an earthquake under his ribs.

Too close.

Too willing.

“Sylus…” she breathed.

Eyes wide.

Lips parted.

She didn’t touch him. Not yet. But her fingers hovered—aching to reach, to comfort.

He flinched.

Not from pain.

Not from fear.

From the unbearable truth: If she so much as brushed his skin, the chains wouldn’t matter.

Nothing would.

He would tear free. He would ruin her.

And gods help him—

It would be glorious.

Her gaze swept over him. The blood at his wrists. The heat shimmering off his skin. The unnatural curve of his spine, strained by what fought to escape.

Her breath caught.

But she didn’t back away.

“I can’t leave you like this.”

“You don’t understand what this is,” he growled.

Every word dragged up from the pit of his stomach like they weighed a hundred pounds each.

She leaned closer.

He wanted to retreat—but there was nowhere to go.

“I know it’s your rut,” she said softly.

Every nerve in his body froze.

The word curled in the air like a blade unsheathed.

His eyes snapped to hers before he could stop himself.

Bad idea.

Fucking terrible idea.

Because she was crying.

Barely.

Not from fear.

From understanding. From wanting to understand.

And that wrecked him more than any scream ever could.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not safe. I’m not even a man anymore. I’m a weapon wrapped in flesh.”

“I don’t care.”

Her voice cracked.

And it cracked him.

A fractured exhale tore from his chest.

It felt like breaking open. Like he’d been holding his breath for centuries.

“I can’t control it,” he warned. “If I touch you, I’ll… I’ll do things I can’t undo.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

His head dropped forward, forehead nearly brushing her knee. Not a choice. Just gravity giving out.

His body trembled.

Not from heat.

Not from lust.

From the agony of being this close.

She reached for him.

Her hand hovered—just above his cheek. Not touching. Yet.

He wanted to lean in. He wanted to bite her wrist. He wanted to weep.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.

He looked up.

And saw everything.

The softness.

The sorrow.

The impossible willingness.

It wasn’t bravado.

It was belief.

She believed in him. Still. After everything.

After seeing what this place had done to him. What the fire was making of him. What little was left.

She still chose him.

And that—that was the final nail.

His vision blurred. The cuffs began to crack.

The dragon inside him stopped pacing.

It leapt.

She touched him.

The lightest graze—fingers along his cheekbone. Barely pressure. Barely movement.

But it was enough to end everything.

Sylus didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The chains held. The runes etched into the iron glowed with warning—dim, pulsing red, reacting to the blood roaring through his veins.

His arms stayed locked behind him, metal biting into burned skin.

You’re not safe. You’re not fit to touch her.

But she didn’t care.

Her fingers lingered.

And he shattered.

Not loudly. Not in a way she could see.

But inside—where things broke clean and never healed right—he came apart.

Because after days of agony—

After blood soaking the stone—

After losing track of what was real—

She touched him like he was still a man.

Not a monster.

Not a weapon.

Just him.

A low, broken sound tore from his throat.

A plea.

The cuffs didn’t break. Not yet.

But the runes flickered.

A warning. Or a promise.

His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

He wanted to turn into her palm. To bury his face in her skin and bite. Mark her. Claim her. Breathe her in until she drowned on it.

But he stayed still. Shackled. Shaking.

Her breath brushed his lips.

“Sylus,” she whispered—a breath shaped like mercy. “I’m here.”

His eyes squeezed shut.

The runes sparked and the iron groaned.

He breathed through his teeth.

Her scent—soft, warm, fatal—saturated the air.

The runes sparked and the iron groaned once more.

Still, he didn’t move.

She leaned in closer.

Her forehead rested against his.

No pressure.

Just presence.

He felt her breath on his mouth.

It didn’t comfort him.

It damned him.

The rut surged beneath his skin like molten metal. Ripping through nerves. Boiling bone.

His hips twitched. His cock throbbed—violently. Dripping. Desperate.

“Sylus,” she said again.

Softer this time.

Not a plea.

A vow.

“Let it go…”

He turned his face into her palm and exhaled—a full-body shudder rolling through him like surrender.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

“You can.”

The final rune sputtered.

His right cuff cracked.

The sound was so quiet she didn’t notice. But he did.

He felt it like a fault line splitting open beneath a city—small. Deadly. Final.

And still—he didn’t move.

Because he knew what came next.

If the chains gave—there’d be no stopping it. No dignity. No gentle restraint.

Only instinct. Only fire. Only her beneath him—breaking. Begging. Blissed out of her mind.

She leaned in. Pressed her chest to his. Folded her legs around him.

And the heat of her body sank into his like gasoline to a live flame.

That was when the left cuff snapped.

No light.

No flash.

Just—a break.

Quiet.

Lethal.

His hand fell free.

He didn’t use it. Not yet.

He held it still—like a condemned man savoring one final breath before the executioner’s blade.

She didn’t notice.

She was too close.

Too focused on his face—eyes wide, full of something between terror and tenderness.

And in that moment, Sylus knew—he couldn’t let her go.

Not even if it ruined them.

Not even if it wrecked her.

Not even if the man inside him was already gone—swallowed whole by the thing that wanted to fuck her until she forgot her name and begged to wear his mark forever.

His free hand moved.

Slow.

Shaking.

Like he was reaching for divinity.

He didn’t grab.

Didn’t pull.

He just lifted that trembling, bloodied hand—and let it hover beside her cheek.

She turned her face into it. Let his fingers brush her skin.

And when she did—when she leaned into his ruin like she wanted to belong to it—his last thread of control snapped.

He surged forward.

His mouth crashed into hers—hard, hungry, desperate.

His whole body ignited with the need to taste her.

To feel her.

To consume her.

The last cuff shattered behind him—but freedom meant nothing now.

He didn’t need freedom.

He needed her.

And he’d never stop.

He didn’t remember moving.

One second, he was kissing her—frenzied, messy, too much teeth and not enough air—

And the next, she was on her back beneath him.

Hair fanned over cold stone like a crown of fire. Mouth red and kiss-bruised. Chest rising and falling like she couldn’t breathe.

And her legs—

Spread.

Just enough to welcome him in.

And gods help him—He fit there.

He hovered above her, panting like an animal, hands planted beside her head. His whole body trembled with restraint—the last shred of it pulled tight around his ribs like barbed wire.

His hips surged forward—instinctual.

His cock dragged against her clothed core—hot, throbbing—and the friction nearly made him sob.

Her eyes met his.

She nodded.

Once.

Slow.

And that—that was the end.

No more hesitation.

No more chains.

No more mercy.

He tore her clothes open with both hands—not undressing.

Destroying.

Fabric shredded beneath his fingers. Sleeves split. Her top peeled away in ruins.

She gasped—and the sound hit him like lightning to the spine.

The dragon inside him didn’t purr.

It roared.

He dropped to his knees between her thighs.

Yanked her underwear down with shaking hands—snarling when the lace clung to her skin like defiance—and threw the scrap across the chamber like it offended him.

Then he looked down—

And gods.

There she was.

Bare. Glistening. Open for him.

The sound that tore from his chest was so low, so guttural—it made the stone beneath them seem to vibrate.

“Sylus—”

She said his name like she’d never say it again.

He didn’t answer.

He grabbed her thighs—

Tight.

Possessive.

Claws barely held in check.

And he dragged her into his lap.

Like she was nothing but gravity’s favorite offering.

His cock brushed against her folds—

Hot.

Leaking.

So thick it looked almost inhuman—the ridge swollen from too much denial,the base already beginning to swell—a promise of the knot to come.

He didn’t line up. He didn’t tease. He just thrust.

Hard.

Deep.

Final.

He buried himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.

And her scream—

Her scream—

Was fucking divine.

Her walls clamped down around him like her body had been built to break for him.

Tight. Wet.Hotter than fire.

And the second he bottomed out—something inside him howled.

His head dropped to her shoulder, fangs bared at her throat, and his hips—they moved.

Not rhythmically.

Not gently.

They claimed.

Grinding.

Dragging.

Devouring.

Each thrust punched a moan out of her—her nails raking down his back like she didn’t know whether to hold him close or tear herself free.

He didn’t give her a choice.

He slammed into her again.

And again.

Hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. Fast enough to erase thought. Deep enough to brand the memory of him into her soul.

“You were made for this,” he growled.

His voice was wrecked—shredded and low, carved out of heat and hunger. Each word forced between thrusts like a vow.

“For me.”

Thrust.

“For my cock.”

Thrust.

“For my knot.”

His fingers dug into her shoulders, claws just barely restrained.

“Say it,” he snarled.

He dragged his cock out—slow, brutal—until only the tip remained. Then slammed back in with a wet slap that echoed off the walls.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Sylus—fuck—I’m yours!”

His hips stuttered.

Her cunt clenched around him so hard he saw stars.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

The dragon demanded more.

He flipped her—one moment she was under him, the next she was on her knees. Face pressed to the stone. Ass arched high. Thighs trembling.

And gods—

She offered herself.

Like instinct had taken over. Like her body remembered what it had been made to do.

He slammed into her—so hard they both cried out.

Her hips jolted forward. Her hands scrabbled for grip.

There was no pretending now.

This wasn’t soft.

This wasn’t sweet.

This was breeding.

He fucked her like the world was ending—like the only thing that mattered was driving so deep she forgot how to walk.

His knot began to swell.

She felt it.

He knew she did—

The way she choked on a cry. The way her body arched back into him, desperate to take all of it.

“Don’t fight it,” he growled into her ear—voice reverent, destroyed. “Let me tie you. Let me fill you.”

“Please—” she whimpered.

He sank in to the base—

And locked.

The knot caught.

And she screamed.

Her whole body convulsed—cunt clenching, pulsing, milking him for everything he had.

And gods, he gave it to her.

He came so hard he saw white.

His vision went black. His roar shattered the silence—thunder in a tomb of stone and sin.

His cock throbbed violently, pulsing rope after rope of heat into her until she was full.

But he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

He kept pouring into her—

Until her belly was taut.

Until her back arched from the sheer force of it.

Until her body went limp.

She whimpered beneath him—trembling. Slick. Painted in sweat and bite marks and the sound of her own ruin.

He held her there.

Locked.

Claimed.

His.

She was shaking beneath him.

Sweat clung to her thighs. Her arms had collapsed. Her palms slid uselessly across cold stone. Her cheek rested against the floor. Lips parted. Eyes glassy.

She looked wrecked.

And gods—

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

But Sylus wasn’t finished.

Not by a fucking long shot.

His knot was still locked deep inside her—still pulsing, still throbbing with the aftershocks of his first release.

And his cock?

Still thick. Still twitching. Already hardening again—inside her.

The dragon didn’t rest.

The rut didn’t cool.

It escalated.

He leaned over her—chest pressed to her trembling back, mouth dragging across the slick heat of her neck.

His fangs grazed her shoulder.

Not biting. Not yet.

But there.

Always there.

A promise. A threat. A vow.

“You’re not done,” he growled—voice low and broken, rasping against the shell of her ear. “Don’t you dare be done.”

A whimper escaped her—half-protest,half-plea.

She was exhausted. Her thighs trembled from strain. But when he rolled his hips—grinding his knot deeper, cock twitching inside her—

She gasped.

Like he’d lit her on fire.

And gods, she squeezed him.

Tight. Reflexive.

Like her body already knew—knew to cling. Knew to keep.

He moaned into her skin.

“Look at you,” he breathed, thrusting shallowly—as deep as the knot would allow. “Already gripping me like you don’t want to let go.”

“Sylus…” she whimpered.

One trembling hand reached back—fingers brushing his hip—barely holding on.

It wasn’t enough.

He pulled out slowly.

Painfully.

The knot dragged free with a wet pop—and both of them groaned.

The moment he slipped out, cum spilled down her thighs in thick, messy drips.

He watched it.

Watched it slide down her skin like proof.

Proof she was his.

She tried to shift—maybe to roll over, maybe to catch her breath—but Sylus growled. Wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her up to her knees again.

“Not yet,” he muttered. Breathless. Wrecked. “Don’t you dare close those legs.”

She obeyed. Whether from instinct or surrender, he didn’t care.

He just needed to be inside her again.

But this time—he didn’t slam into her.

This time—he knelt behind her.

Spread her open with both hands—thumbs parting her slick folds, so he could see.

So he could worship.

Every ruined inch of her—dripping, flushed, swollen from taking every inch of him.

She was panting.

He leaned in. Pressed a kiss between her thighs.

Just one.

Then his tongue followed.

A full, filthy lick—from her entrance to her clit.

Her whole body jolted.

She cried out—

Loud.

Raw.

And he groaned into her heat.

“Sweet fucking gods,” he rasped, gripping her hips tighter. “You taste like heaven after sin.”

And then—

he ate her.

Like a man starved.

Like her pleasure was the only thing that could cool the fire still devouring him from within.

His tongue circled her clit—

Relentless.

Lips closing around it to suck. While two fingers thrust deep—curled exactly right. Precise. Devoted.

He found that spot—the one that made her hips jerk, her voice break.

And he didn’t stop.

She was sobbing now.

Shaking.

Gasping.

Trying to pull away—

He didn’t let her.

“Stay there,” he growled. “Take it.”

“I—I can’t—” she whimpered.

“Yes, you can.”

And she did.

Her back arched—thighs trembling violently—and then she broke.

Clenching around his fingers, sobbing through a climax that sounded like a prayer wrapped in punishment.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

He kept his mouth on her—dragging out her orgasm until she was twitching, babbling, eyes rolling back.

Only then did he pull away.

Only then did he lift her—gently, reverently—

And press her down onto her back.

She looked dazed.

Hair wild. Lips bruised. Chest rising in frantic, uneven bursts.

Sylus hovered over her—panting, his cock already hard again.

Flushed.

Slick.

Leaking across her stomach.

“You’re gonna take me again,” he told her.

It wasn’t a question.

Her legs opened.

It was instinct.

He lined up. Thrust in—one smooth, brutal stroke.

Buried to the hilt.

He groaned—low, broken, animal.

She gasped—half in shock,half in greedy need.

And gods—

She was so wet.

So fucking ready.

Her cunt swallowed him like it missed him—like the brief moments he hadn’t been inside her were somehow unnatural.

And this time?

This time he fucked her.

Not slow.

Not sweet.

Brutal.

Deep.

Obsessive.

He held her legs wide, drilled into her, watched her fall apart beneath him.

Her moans became cries.

Her hands gripped his arms like he was the only thing keeping her from floating away.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, fucking harder. “Do you hear me?”

She nodded frantically, gasping—

“Y-Yes—yes—yours—”

His lips curled into something dark. Something sacred.

“I’m gonna knot you again,” he growled. “Gonna fuck you so full you forget who you were before me.”

Her eyes rolled back.

He bent low, kissed her mouth—bit her lower lip—and fucked her harder. Faster.

His knot swelled again—thick and demanding—pressing against her entrance with every brutal thrust.

And when it caught—

When it locked—

She screamed.

And he came.

Again.

Harder than before.

Hot, pulsing waves of release spilled into her.

Filling her.

Stretching her.

Until her belly lifted from the pressure—until her cunt clenched down like it never wanted to let him go.

She sobbed beneath him.

Not in pain.

In ecstasy.

And Sylus—

He roared.

Head thrown back. Eyes glowing. Hands gripping her like she was the only thing anchoring him to existence.

And the dragon inside him—the beast that had burned and waited and hungered—it sang.

She was limp beneath him.

Skin slick. Flushed. Trembling.

Her thighs had stopped shaking—not from relief, but from exhaustion.

Her voice was wrecked. Her eyes—glassy. Her lips—parted in a soft, ruined sigh that made his cock twitch inside her.

Still locked. Still pulsing. Still not enough.

Even after two full rounds—

Even after he’d emptied himself so deep it should’ve broken them both—

His rut didn’t ease.

The fire still raged.

Hotter. Hungrier. Holier.

He watched her body twitch with aftershocks—and something inside him shifted.

Something sacred.

Something old.

A primal instinct unfolded in his chest like wings.

He hadn’t just claimed her.

He’d begun the claiming.

And he’d do it again.

And again.

Until her body bloomed with his legacy.

Until her womb swelled with the future their blood demanded.

Until she was full of his fire-born clutch.

His hand dragged slowly down her stomach—fingers tracing the gentle swell from the sheer amount of cum stuffed inside her.

“You feel that?” he whispered.

She blinked slowly—wrecked.

But her body answered for her—clenching softly, involuntarily.

He moaned.

Fangs bared.

“You’re holding me so tight,” he breathed. “Even now. Like your body knows what it’s for.”

He leaned down—teeth grazing the curve of her breast.

And this time?

He didn’t graze.

He bit.

Hard.

Deep.

Enough to leave a mark that would never fade.

Her back arched under him—a gasp breaking from her throat.

Not pain.

Not exactly.

It was all too tangled now—pain, pleasure, possession.

Her body didn’t know the difference anymore.

He suckled her breast—tongue circling, lips sealing over her nipple.

And his hips began to move.

Slow, shallow thrusts—grinding his knot inside her,stretching her open all over again.

Her fingers tangled in his hair.

And she moaned.

Gods.

She moaned.

Even ruined.

Even drenched in his cum.

Even trembling with overstimulation—

She wanted more.

And so did he.

— © 2025 by Sylus’s Little Crow

【 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 】

[agentrouka-blog]

Why is Dany almost always drawn as this angelic grown woman with long hair and a hourglass figure? I know she's pretty, but this girl was walking around Essos bald, starved, with cracked nipples and 3 dragons to feed. Let her get dirty!

The cowardice of it.

Let her look like her iconic self! A bald, small fourteen-year-old, body still post-partum, with a lion's head for a hood crossing the desert with her small khalasar looking for a destination like some kind of knock-off Dothraki Dragon Moses. She just performed a murderous miracle and brought baby WMDs to life. They are marching and starving like young Stannis holding Storm's End through a year-old siege. They are drinking sulfuric water. The people are dropping like flies. Still they march. Her people die and her dragons thrive and her only mantra is that her word is their law and there's a star she needs to follow.

This is not a sex symbol. This is not an inspiring girl power fashion plate.

This is a raw, determined human in rough condition, with few lines left to cross and less cares to give about it.

People want a silver-haired, silk-clad, half-dressed dragon barbie when they should be celebrating this feral ticking time bomb.

[fire-lizard-ro]

Dragon Dan Heng + Oviposition

Warning: oviposition, non-human anatomy things, oral, rut cycles, feral behavior, biting, belly bulge, breeding, copious amounts of cum, cumplay????, plugging??? tf do I call it-, author rambling again with little coherency, top character

GN reader I think.

NSFW under the cut:

He- Oml we're going with the combo of one cock + oviposition + internal sheath thing + ribbed dick.

Oml so if we go the egging route... God he's whining as the eggs make their way into his cock from whatever internal pouch he has. Moaning like a pornstar and grinding into your hole as they slide through his cock and stretch out his dick's slit to make themselves at home inside you with a spurt of precum. There's LOTS of that, making your insides already messy before he even cums. The size of the egg has your belly feeling bloated already. But by the time he's done, your tummy has been rounded out like you're already months pregnant and then he's emptying his cum inside of you on top of that to fertilize the eggs. When he's filling you with his eggs, his teeth are likely latched into your shoulder. He really didn't mean to he's just so far gone that he did it without thinking about it. :(( He just wanted to lay claim on you in more way than one with that rut brain of his. :(( Secretly but not so secretly because of how he looks at it later likes the marks on you.

You can feel free to add this into your fantasy or not, but personally- Sometimes I think about how his internal egg pouch where he keeps the eggs (grows them??? tf-) ends up bloated by the time his rut comes around. Sorta makes sense because how else would big eggs fit in his body to put into you? Like I imagine he has a flat belly until getting close to his rut and suddenly his lower belly is swelling with eggs that he just has to put in you once it's time. Please won't you let him breed you? :((

Sometimes this idea shows up in my fantasies and sometimes it doesn't. As most things go with dragon Dan Heng in my head.

Also random thing about his large pecker dick: I think it might have a thinner tip. Like... it's mostly the same size all the way down with only the slightest of tapering, but then right at the tip it tapers a lot. Like not even an inch before the tip it does that. Also I still like the idea of it being ribbed. :D

Also oml there's something obscene about the way the eggs also stretch out not only his cock but the opening of his sheath oifjsoegi- Once again pushing the internal sheath agenda.

I think that as long as he doesn't fertilize them, they won't grow or anything. So you'll just lay them later on. Always very sweet with you whether you're laying unfertilized eggs or birthing the eggs that will eventually hatch. Will soothingly rub your belly and hold your hand. Might reach in to help coax the eggs out. If they aren't fertilized, it means he doesn't have to be as careful with them and just uses his claws to gently pull them out fjsije- This makes me think that he probably takes them out after his rut is over because he'd wanna keep them in to pacify (god there was another word I was gonna use-) his Need to Breed TM.

But ye when he's done filling you with his eggs and cum, he's watching the way his cum spills out of your thoroughly bred hole and will gather it back up to finger it back in. Probably cups his hand on your hole to keep it in before putting a plug in you to keep all that thick cum in you. Slides his fingers in your mouth to have you clean them off but then licks his tongue into your mouth because he wants to taste the mixture of his and your cum in your mouth.

Talked about aftercare last time, but now I'll add a lil more and say that with rut it's not just fucking. His dragon rut brain tells him to take care of you and protect you, his mate. So he's also making sure you're drinking water, fed, and warm. Will feed you by hand and help you drink your water. If you're into it, maybe he even puts the water into his own mouth to give to you. Possibly because you're too fucked out to even drink it when he puts the cup or waterbottle to your lips. Probably does a fucking perimeter check of the room because his rut brain demands he makes sure it's safe before he snuggles up with you and you have an armful of purring dragon to help you fall asleep.

Wrote this and then did not read through it so there maybe typos and things that don't make sense whoops.

Will check it later.

[quietplace26]

Part 2 of that Furina!MC au.

Warning: OCness from Neuvillette. Dark, out of character Focalors. And a whole lot of cringe worthy content.

Another week became 2, then 3, then a month, and a then a couple of more months!

And all the while, Furina!MC was still there, in the Hydro Sovereign's den, in his arms.

Not once did she try to escape. Not that she wanted to, honestly...

Was she being too selfish? She was Furina, and Furina!MC needed to lead the nation of Fontaine, deal with her role alone, with only Focalors whispering orders in her ear...

But had she unintentionally messed with canon events? She met Neuvillette early, several years too early, early enough he was still very much feral.

How was she even going to coax him to come with her to Fontaine so he could be her Ludex? Hell, how was she going to get him to even let she herself return to Fontaine?

"Eep?!"

Furina!MC is suddenly knocked out her thoughts when she feels familiar, sharp teeth nip at her ear.

"N-Neuvillette!"

Leviathan, or well, Neuvillette gives her a lazy smirk before returning to playfully nipping at her ear, and going down to her already marked up neck.

The name change was a recent thing. Furina!MC and him were talking about names, and she mentions how she once heard how names had power and such, and he, being all possessive and dragon, only wanted her to say his name, so-

"Give me a name, treasure."

In private, he was still Leviathan, but 'Neuvillette' was quickly becoming a fond of that name coming from his mate's lips.

And she was right, names had power, and it would be safer for him to go by a different name if they have to mingle with humans... You never know who was listening in.

Cough Celestia.

Furina!MC huffs in fake annoyance at his actions before giggling when he starts 'attacking' her with nibbles and kisses.

Kisses were also a new thing, having been introduced when a curious Neuvillette asked about human courtship customs and what not.

'How does humans show affection towards one another?'

He had already started courting her as Dragon would. Made the comfiest nest for her, brings her the prettiest shells and gems he can find under the sea, always feeding her the biggest and juiciest fish.

He even once clumsily braided some Rainbow roses, which he nabbed on one of his outings outside his den, into her hair, saying he remembered seeing a human male doing this with his mate.

It was a mess, but Furina!MC appreciated it. She returns the favor by braiding his own hair as it was long and kept getting tangled.

And then there was the Lumitolies! You remember how it was ascension material for Neuvillette in her last life, but apparently, he was actually really fond of the little starfish creatures and that transcends into him giving her one every so often.

They literally have a small pool of water in the den filled with Lumitolies.

But going back to the question... Furina!MC wasn't exactly the best person to ask this... as she didn't have a lick of romantic experience under her belt.

Not even in her past life did she have a partner.

A virgin in both lives. How pathetic.

But when the Sovereign just wouldn't let it go, she would sigh and tell him all there is to human romance.

He quickly zeros in on the concept of kissing.

Which in honesty, isn't a shock. How would dragons kiss each other if they had no lips? Licking maybe? Nuzzling?

Neuvillette did a lot of that. Licking her cheek or neck, giving you plenty of nuzzles and cuddled the hell out of her.

The number of times Furina!MC woke up squished under the Sovereign was getting ridiculous, but she liked it. Made her feel... Safe? Protected?

But again, Neuvillette wouldn't let the kissing thing go.

And after hearing the Sovereign constantly grumble about wanting one for nearly a few days straight, Furina!MC breaks and finally gives him a quick kiss on the cheek as an example of affection.

There! That should in all intents quell the Hydro Dragon's curiosity... Right?

Wrong. It was a mistake, as it unlocked a whole new beast in the reincarnated Sovereign.

Kisses had quickly become a must and Neuvillette would not let Furina!MC out their nest without her giving him at least one.

Don't even get her started when she awkwardly kissed him on the mouth the first time... and found out Neuvillette was a very, VERY fast learner.

...And that showed when he took her the first time...

Furina!MC blushed scarlet at the memories of that night. It was... intense. Nice, but intense.

If only her past self could only see her now, sleeping with her old video game crush, what a turn of events.

But still, the moments where you two sleep together, intimately, were starting to increase over the last month or so, and, well, she started feeling sick.

And Archons, as far as she could tell in her nearly 70 years of existence as Furina, didn't get sick.

Neuvillette seemed to notice her odd illness as well, and after moment of scenting during a cuddle session, he perks up, happily warbling something in dragon tongue, and places his hands on your belly.

His eyes were practically sparkling in happiness as his tail swayed behind him.

And that was enough for Furina!MC to know she was pregnant with his offspring. Since he was a Dragon trapped in a human form, Neuvillette had higher senses than she did, so he'd most likely smell if she was carrying his child or not.

Furina!MC looks down at her stomach in awe. She... She was going to be a mother? She never had the chance of finding love in her past life, but now...

All the dark thoughts about the future of Fontaine and what she needed to do seemed to disappear from her mind as she returned her lover's smile, her hands going down to join his on her still flat belly.

"A baby? We're really...?"

Neuvillette purrs, nuzzling his cheek against his mate's.

"Yes, you're carrying my offspring, Treasure. Such a gift you blessed me with."

Furina!MC returns his nuzzle happily, opening her mouth to speak again... when she freezes, hearing a familiar voice in her head.

"...I think you have had enough fun, my dear Furina. It's time to return home. NOW."

Focalors! No, no, no, no-

"And what is this? You are with... child? That should not be- never mind, this could work for Fontaine. A child of the Hydro Sovereign could guarantee the sire to be loyal to Fontaine-"

Furina!MC nearly gags then. Focalors wants to use her baby?! To get Neuvillette?! No! Not like this! Furina!MC wouldn't let her-

Her head starts hurting then, black spots filled her vision, and Neuvillette's panicked expression was the last thing she saw...

...Furina!MC thinks it's a dream. They were in Neuvillette's arms... But Focalors was there as well. And they... they were on a stage...

If she was more coherent, she would've noticed this was the stage where Focalors would eventually die on in Genshin Impact...

She couldn't make out the words being said, but Neuvillette looked enraged, and Focalors... well, she looked like how Furina!MC last remembered her being.

Poised with grace and divinity, a cold, serene smile on her face, eyes empty of all humanity, only filled with a calculating gaze as she examines them.

"...Neuvillette..."

Furina!MC's weak cry gets the Hydro Sovereign's attention, and his expression softens before it hardens once again at Focalors, who only continues to smile calmly as she said-

"Do we have a deal, O' Great Hydro Sovereign?"

Neuvillette's grip on Furina!MC tightens. "...Very well, usurper, we have a deal. And let it be known I will enjoy your death greatly when the time is nay."

Huh? Deal? What deal...

Furina!MC starts to black out again, missing the rest of the conversation... and wakes up once again in Neuvillette's arms.

Only this time, they weren't in the safety of the Sovereign's den, no, they were outside, her lover's expression was grim... and he was heading straight towards the Court of Fontaine...

"...N-Neuvillette? ...Leviathan? Why are we..."

"...Do not worry, Treasure. Everything will be fine... I promise, you will never be alone... We will get through this... Together."

[nanamineedstherapy]

Hollow Worship: It was never about him

Summary: Gojo Satoru was used to being admired. Worshipped, even. That was the natural order of things. But worship isn’t always devotion. Sometimes, it’s possession. Sometimes, it’s something far worse. Trigger Warnings(Contains Spoilers): MDNI, Non-Con. A/N: The people who feel close to someone call them by their first name. Those who don’t—or don’t see themselves as a living being or a human—use surnames. This is my dark little gift to my muses @mullermilkshake & @TheVillagerandtheSea—hope you both enjoy your dose of brain rot. Hehe.

Your POV

Gojo Satoru was used to being admired. Worshipped, even. It came with the territory—being him.

His power? Unmatched.

His looks? Otherworldly.

His charm? Debatable. But that was your problem, not his.

The first time you met him, you were busy existing like a normal, competent jujutsu sorcerer with a stellar track record.

That lasted exactly five seconds.

Because then he walked in, all six-foot-whatever, grinning like an idiot, and your brain just—

Flatlined.

Your eyes dropped.

Not to his ridiculous sunglasses.

Not to his stupid smirk.

Lower.

His chest.

His stupidly big, indecently sculpted, menacingly perky chest.

The fabric of his uniform stretched obscenely across his pecs, and you were stuck staring at them like a sleep paralysis demon locked in combat with intrusive thoughts.

“Uh,” you said, completely forgetting every word you’d ever learned.

Gojo wasn’t surprised when you immediately froze upon meeting him. Awestruck, clearly. Like a rookie catching their first glimpse of true greatness.

His smirk widened. “Oh? Speechless? Must be my overwhelming presence—”

You didn’t respond, still frozen.

Satoru knew what people usually looked at. His blindfold. His jawline. Sometimes his hands (for some weird reason).

But you? You looked like you’d seen God’s greatest creation.

Right there.

On his torso.

It was bizarre.

Your love for Satoru (or Toru, as you lovingly called him in your dreams) didn’t start that day. It had been brewing for years—long before you ever laid eyes on him in real life.

Back when he was just an unattainable god-tier existence on your timeline, you already knew he’d be yours.

Because there was one thing that separated others from you, your special grade technique was a bad match for his.

When someone dared to call him overrated? You were there, bombs locked and loaded.

When a hater tried to say he wasn’t that strong? You had an entire thesis, six sources cited, and a clip of him soloing special grades in 4K.

And when anyone tried to downplay his assets—the sheer, disrespectfully sculpted divinity of his existence—?

Oh, you were feral.

“I wonder if sex eyes replineshes his cum output too and efficiently releases cum to the point where he releases massive cum while releasing almost close to 0 cum. Also, would it look blue? Would it be stronger than normal cum? Lot of questions.”

“How much do you love Gojo?”

“How much water have you drank all your life?”

"Honestly, at this point, if he fucked my Grandma, I’d lick her asshole just to taste his cum.”

The Gojo fandom was a lawless wasteland, and you thrived in it.

You had favorites, of course.

The thirst edits that sent you into a spiral.

The fanart that made you question if you needed to start paying tithes.

The slow-mo clips of him laughing, walking, existing—each one a religious experience in its own right.

And then there was The Video. The one where he cracked his neck before a fight, his uniform stretching just right across his chest.

That was the day you learned true spiritual enlightenment.

“Daddy Gojo needs to be locked in a mating press IMMEDIATELY. I’m tired of this.”

“I will open my mouth and take big bites of your huge breasts. Then I will open my anus behind me and let you impale me with that huge dragon-slaying eagle. Until the flowers fade, until my room becomes sticky, until your semen rushes from behind me toward my esophagus and out of my throat. Until the blood flowing in my veins becomes your semen. Until I howled loudly, which made me very happy.”

It was true love.

Except now you were here.

You had spent years preparing for this moment. Practiced your greeting. Rehearsed a perfectly normal, non-feral introduction. Told yourself you were above the insanity.

Then he walked in.

And your brain just left the building.

It wasn’t just the face. Or the voice. Or the aura that made everyone else in the room seem insignificant by comparison.

No, it was worse.

Because Gojo Satoru in real life?

Was so much more.

---

A few days later, you were on your first mission under Tokyo Jujutsu Tech.

Supposed to be dealing with a curse. A minor one, at that. Easy work for someone of your caliber.

Barely a threat.

But then it happened.

Satoru’s chest bounced when he dodged an attack.

The moment he’d moved, his uniform shifted—just slightly, just enough for the fabric to pull taut, for muscle to flex, for the weight of him to move in a way that was, apparently, devastating to you.

Your brain short-circuited like a Windows XP error.

You stopped mid-step, completely entranced, like a deer staring down an 18-wheeler made of raw pectoral muscle.

You almost died.

Over boobies.

Gojo had saved you, obviously. He yanked you back, put down the curse like it was nothing.

Then he turned to you, expecting at least a little bit of shame.

Instead, you were still looking.

Not at the curse.

Not at the aftermath.

At him.

At something beyond, something in, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

“…Newbie nerves?” he said, tilting his head. “You know, I could give you some pointers—”

Nothing.

No reaction.

Just that same, unblinking, fascinated look.

“Huh,” he frowned.

And, like a curse magnetized to a ten-pack, you kept staring.

---

Gojo’s POV

The first time he met you, he thought you were a normal, competent jujutsu sorcerer. Maybe even impressive.

Then he noticed the staring.

It wasn’t the usual kind—no awe, no fear, no giddy admiration at his reputation.

It was fixed. Heavy.

It took him longer than it should have to realize what you were staring at.

Not his uniform.

His chest.

At first, it was easy to ignore. Gojo was used to people looking at him, analyzing him, wanting something from him.

But this was different.

Your gaze didn’t waver, didn’t break away when caught—it just locked on, paralyzing, suffocating, an unspoken weight pressing against his ribs.

Gojo wasn’t used to feeling watched.

Not like this.

Sure, people stared at him all the time—students, sorcerers, civilians, enemies. Everyone wanted a piece of him, whether it was his power, his reputation, or just the sheer spectacle of his existence.

But your gaze?

Your gaze felt different.

He laughed it off.

Because what else was he supposed to do?

He’d gone to Nanami first.

“She stares at my chest. Constantly,” Gojo said, sitting backward on a chair like the human embodiment of a red flag.

Nanami didn’t look up from his paperwork. “And? I have important matters to handle, Gojo-san.”

“No, but seriously. She stares like—like she’s buffering. It’s like she’s studying them. That’s weird, right?”

Nanami’s pen stilled. He glanced up. “You mean the sorcerer with a higher kill count than you?”

Gojo blinked. “...What?”

“She’s a special grade.”

“Huh—”

“She’s more competent than you.”

Gojo frowned. “Okay, rude, but—”

“You should be grateful she even looks at you.”

“How can you—”

“She has more important things to do than entertain your delusions.”

He tried Ijichi next.

“Ijichi, listen, she stares. A lot. You believe me, right?”

Ijichi sighed, exhausted. “I believe you’re tired and hallucinating, Gojo-san.”

Surely Shoko would believe him, right?

Shoko took a drag of her cigarette and, without looking at him, said, “Sounds like a skill issue.”

No one believed him. No one.

And that’s when Gojo knew: he was alone in this.

That should have been the end of it. But it kept happening.

You were competent, respected, powerful—and yet, Gojo would catch you frozen, staring at him.

Not at his face.

At his chest.

It happened during missions.

It happened in meetings.

It happened when he was simply breathing in the same space as you.

And then, the first incident happened.

It had been a nasty mission.

Multiple special grade curses.

Gojo handled it like always, but the last one caught him off-guard.

Just for a second.

Then the mission went wrong.

Fast.

Gojo got clocked.

Hard enough to black out.

It wasn’t often that he felt truly helpless.

It would be fine; you were there; you’d take care of it.

But when he woke up, there was cold floor pressing against his back.

Did he tear off his clothes in the fight?

But there was warmth too.

Something was off.

Pressure. Softness.

Something was… moving?

His brain caught up at the same time his eyes adjusted.

He tried to sit up, but—oh.

Oh, no.

He looked down.

It was you.

Your face was buried in his bare chest.

Fully.

And—oh God, were you moterboating his chest?

Gojo was a man of many words.

Right now? He had none.

Your hands clutched his uniform pant’s waistband, face buried between his pecs like you were trying to merge with them.

“...The hell?” Gojo rasped.

You froze.

Stared at him, unblinking.

You had been waiting for this.

Didn’t look embarrassed but... devastated?

A long, long pause.

Then:

“...Can I—”

“No.”

“Just one more—”

“Absolutely not.”

You sat back with the heaviest sigh known to man.

Because you were disappointed.

Gojo scrambled away from you, grabbing his uniform coat, almost tripping on his own feet and putting it on hurriedly before teleporting away.

---

Your POV

You loved his chest.

And Gojo Satoru, for all his confidence, was confused by the sheer devastation on your face as he pulled away, as if he’d just denied you your one purpose in life.

Meanwhile, you?

You had been thriving.

You had touched him.

Felt him.

Got a taste—no, an experience—of the divine creation that was his body, and it had been just as glorious as you always imagined.

Better, even.

Your fingers still tingled.

Your face still burned.

Your soul? Ascended.

And he had moaned.

Not a little gasp, not a sharp inhale—he had moaned.

The moment his consciousness had flickered back into reality, before his brain even had the decency to register what was happening, a soft, breathy, utterly wrecked sound had left his lips.

For you.

He could deny it all he wanted. Could try to act like he wasn’t completely gone for you, but you knew the truth.

It was only a matter of time.

And time was something you were ready to bend.

You’d always admired him—Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, the most beautiful man alive, the reason why your entire search history was a carefully curated shrine of edits, thirst posts, and questionable thoughts.

You were the one who lived and breathed Satoru. The one who had a folder on your phone labeled “Toru’s Temple” filled with pictures and clips (taken of him when he wasn’t looking) of him doing the most mundane things—like adjusting his blindfold or his fingers intertwined when he sat waiting for his hot coffee to cool—because even the smallest movement felt religious.

But admiration had limits.

Love didn’t.

And what you felt for him?

It was love.

Because if Satoru told you to jump off a cliff, you’d ask how high?

Because if he ruined your life, you’d apologize for wasting his time.

That’s why, as you watched him stumble out of the infirmary, still slightly dazed, still rattled from your little touch, you knew exactly what you had to do.

Toru baby needed guidance.

Someone to make him understand.

And that someone was you.

You smoothed out your uniform, lips curving into a soft, sweet smile as you watched him head toward the training grounds. The first-years were waiting for him, clueless to the fact that their beloved teacher had just moaned like a two-bit whore under you.

Adorable.

But you weren’t worried.

You had a plan.

All you had to do was wait, when he was just tired enough, just distracted enough—

And then?

You were going to corner him.

And you were going to make him see.

Make him understand that what happened between you wasn’t just a coincidence.

That his body knew what his stubborn little brain was taking time to accept.

That he belonged to you.

And if you had to break him in to make him realize it?

Well.

That was just love, wasn’t it?

---

A few days later - Gojo’s POV

Gojo had always assumed there were limits.

There were things he could stop, things he could overpower, things that no one—no one—could ever do to him.

Because he was the strongest.

Because he had Infinity.

Because he was untouchable.

Because—

Because—

Because he was wrong.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

He saw the shift in your eyes before he even registered that his body was already reacting.

Already activating Infinity.

The barrier was up.

Infinity was absolute.

That’s what Gojo had always known.

A law of physics as natural as breathing. No one—not even a special-grade—should have been able to touch him without permission.

But your fingers wrapped around his wrist anyway.

Like Infinity wasn’t there.

Like he wasn’t there.

He had never seen you use this technique before.

Something that bypassed Infinity like it was nothing.

Not time manipulation, not a Domain Expansion—just something else.

Something made for this.

He had seen cursed techniques used in ways that violated human limits, but never like this.

Never against him.

Never against his body.

Gojo didn’t understand.

Didn’t want to understand.

His breath stuck in his throat. His body locked.

His vision tunneled, and it wasn’t because of a fight, wasn’t because of an opponent stronger than him, wasn’t because he had made a mistake in battle—

No.

This was something worse.

His body wasn’t reacting the way it should have.

His instinct screamed at him—pull away, push back, destroy—

But he couldn’t.

Because his body wasn’t obeying instincts of war anymore.

It was responding to something else. Something he had never prepared for.

Fear.

Not of death.

Not of losing.

But of you.

Your hands touched his chest first, like before.

Then lower.

Lower.

The horror didn’t hit all at once.

It came in waves, in wrongness, in realization.

He had never been touched like this.

Never been unable to stop it.

His body was screaming at him to move, but he couldn’t.

He wasn’t fighting a curse.

He wasn’t facing death.

He was frozen.

He wasn’t the strongest.

Not in this.

Not when it was your weight against him, your voice—his own name slipping out of your mouth in a way that made his stomach churn—

Not when he realized his body was obeying instincts that had nothing to do with power.

He wanted to disappear.

His body was betraying him.

Why?

Why?

His arms twitched—move, move, fucking move—

The world tilted when you shoved him back onto the floor. It wasn’t forceful enough to hurt, but it was enough to make one thing painfully clear—

He wasn’t in control.

You straddled him, your weight pressing down on him like a cage. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head back, forcing him to look at you.

Your hands slid over his body, exploring, claiming, violating.

Everywhere you touched felt like fire, but not the kind that burned away impurities. This fire was corrosive, eating away at him, leaving behind nothing but ash and shame.

Gojo wanted to die.

His body—his own body—betrayed him.

Heat pooled under his skin, a sick, involuntary reaction that made his stomach churn.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing.

He wanted to laugh.

He wanted to vomit.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Not to him.

The strongest. The untouchable. The undefeated.

That’s what everyone thought.

That’s what he had always thought.

Until now.

Your voice cut through the haze, cooing words that sounded sweet but felt like poison.

Like nothing was wrong.

Like he was a willing participant.

Like he wasn’t lying there, wishing he could sink into the floor, wishing he could dissolve into nothingness, wishing he could sit under water and watch as his skin shredded away layer by layer until there was no trace of you left on him.

Until your touch became a bad dream, a distant memory, and not his reality.

He closed his eyes, desperate to escape, but his Six Eyes betrayed him.

They showed him everything—the way you looked at him, not as a person, but as meat.

As something to be devoured.

His arms refused to move, heavy and useless at his sides.

Was this the freeze response people talked about?

The body’s way of protecting itself when fight or flight wasn’t an option?

He shut his eyelids tighter, as if he could block out the world, block out you, block out the unbearable reality of what was happening.

But he couldn’t.

He could still feel your hands, your weight, your breath.

He could still hear your voice, soft and sickeningly sweet.

He could still see, even with his eyes closed, the way you looked at him—like he was nothing more than an object for your pleasure.

He waited.

Waited for it to end.

But it didn’t.

And all he could do was lie there, trapped in his own body, wishing for it all to be over.

Wishing for the nightmare to end.

Wishing for the strength to fight back.

But it never came.

And so, he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then—

A crack!!

The weight was gone.

Gojo barely felt himself collapse back on the floor, his body folding in on itself like a marionette with its strings cut.

His body still wasn’t listening.

Then he heard the sounds.

The sickening crunch of bone against bone.

The sharp, wet slap of flesh meeting flesh.

The guttural cries of a fight that wasn’t his to finish.

His body did not move.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t help.

Even as the fight broke out around him, even as voices—familiar, urgent, furious—got lost through the fog in his mind, even as he felt the warm splatter of blood against his skin, he remained still.

Paralyzed.

Helpless.

When the silence finally fell, heavy and suffocating, he felt something solid.

Warm. Safe.

A hand.

“Satoru.”

His whole body shuddered at the sound of his name, at the weight of it, at the way it anchored him back to reality.

Nanami was there.

Gojo’s hands, trembling and weak, gripped Nanami’s coat like it was the only thing keeping him from being swept away.

Nanami was real.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

The world had tilted off its axis, and he knew, deep in his bones, that he would never be able to straighten it again.

So he asked, because he had to.

“You believe me now, right?”

The words clawed their way out of his throat, raw and broken, the weight of them thick enough to drown him.

He was drowning.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, after everything, Kento finally spoke.

“I believed you then, too.”

Soft. Solid. Unshakable.

“She had ears on us. I couldn’t risk tipping her off.”

Gojo’s stomach dropped.

Because that meant—

That meant he had never been alone.

That meant Kento had known.

That meant someone had taken it seriously.

Gojo’s chest collapsed inward, the weight of it crushing him.

Like he had been bracing for something that never came.

Like he had been drowning alone this whole time when, in reality—

Kento had been there.

Had always been there.

His breath broke, a ragged, shuddering thing that tore through him like a storm.

He broke.

The strongest man in the world.

He didn’t let go of Kento.

He couldn’t.

His body still wasn’t listening, still frozen, still trapped in the aftermath of what had happened.

Because it knew.

It finally, finally knew.

And the knowledge was worse than the violation.

The realization that he had never been alone, that someone had seen, that someone had cared enough to take it seriously—it was too much.

Too much to bear.

And so, he clung to Kento, to the solid, unyielding presence of the one person who had believed him, who had been there all along.

Because if he let go, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the fall.

---

She was dead, but Gojo Satoru was afraid.

Of women.

Of touch.

Of himself.

Of what had already been taken from him.

And of what would never come back.

Gojo didn’t talk much anymore.

He laughed when he needed to, the sound hollow and rehearsed, a performance for the sake of those around him.

He joked when expected, the words slipping out like a reflex, but the humor never reached his eyes.

The mask fit perfectly, molded to his face over years of practice, but it was heavier now.

Heavier than Infinity.

Heavier than the weight of the world.

Because beneath it, he was breaking.

He didn’t touch anyone.

Not casually. Not intentionally. Not unless it was absolutely necessary.

And he didn’t let anyone close.

Not physically. Not emotionally.

The space around him became a fortress, walls built from the rubble of what had been done to him.

But the fortress wasn’t impenetrable.

It couldn’t keep out the memories.

The phantom sensations.

The way his body betrayed him, flinching at the slightest brush of a hand, freezing at the sound of footsteps behind him.

He felt it every time someone’s eyes lingered a little too long.

Every time he caught a glimpse of a smile that felt too familiar.

The weight of hands on his chest.

The warmth of breath against his skin.

The disgusting truth of it all.

And no one noticed.

Except for Kento.

The disgusting truth of it all.

And no one noticed.

Except for Kento.

Kento, who didn’t comment when Gojo’s hands shook as he reached for a cup of coffee.

Kento, who didn’t force a conversation when Gojo’s responses dwindled to single syllables or silence.

Kento, who—one day, in an empty hallway, when a female walked a little too close—stepped between them without a word.

It wasn’t just the hallway.

It was the little things.

The way Kento would subtly position himself between Gojo and anyone who got too close during meetings.

The way he would linger in the room after everyone else had left, fiddling with his phone, giving Gojo the space to breathe without the pressure of being watched.

The way he would hand Gojo a file or a pen without letting their fingers brush, a small but deliberate act of consideration.

And then there were the things Gojo didn’t even realize he needed until Kento provided them.

Like the time Gojo froze in the middle of a mission, his body locking up at the sight of a curse that bore an unsettling resemblance to her.

Kento didn’t ask questions.

He didn’t demand an explanation.

He simply stepped in, taking over the fight without a word, giving Gojo the space to retreat without shaming him for something that wasn’t his fault.

Or the time Gojo found himself unable to enter a room—that room, his feet rooted to the ground at the sound of laughter—her laughter, or at least something close enough to make his stomach churn.

Kento didn’t push him.

He didn’t tell him to get over it.

He just stood there, a silent presence at Gojo’s side, until the laughter faded and Gojo could breathe again.

Gojo didn’t thank him.

He couldn’t.

The words stuck in his throat, tangled up with everything else he couldn’t say.

But Kento didn’t seem to expect gratitude or even think of it.

He didn’t seem to expect anything at all.

He was just there.

Steady. Reliable. Unshakable.

Reminding him, even in the darkest corners of his mind, where the memories lingered like shadows, there was a light.

Faint, but there.

Kento didn’t touch Gojo. Didn’t even look at him.

But he was there.

A barrier.

A shield.

Gojo had never needed a shield before.

Now, he couldn’t survive without one.

A/N: The comments in this fic are real comments people have actually made about Gojo on Twitter & Reddit. "How would this actually play out in a realistic setting?" I’ve always had this thought lurking in the back of my mind whenever I read some of the feral, lawless thirst comments people make about Gojo. So I did what any sane person would: I turned it into a horror fic. Also, if you thought Gojo was too OP to be a victim… yeah, so did he. Now, tell me—be honest—what’s the worst Gojo thirst comment you’ve ever seen? 👀 Drop it in the comments. (Or, if this broke you emotionally, just leave a 🍞 emoji so I know you’re still breathing.)

All Works Masterlist

[jscrawls]

More about dovahkiin! reader 🫣

They can be yeeted into the DC verse by aedra, daedra, played too hard with magic, Isekai'd and just has the powers, doesn't matter.

🔹🔹🔹

Batman doesn't trust you, magic, powers, a backstory and world unknown, it drives him nuts. He tolerates you because you're useful and he wants to find your weaknesses for a contingency plan but the most annoying part that's got him ripping his hair out of how... Fine everyone else is with you, if you could even call it just..."fine". He tries to ignore how creepy the others sometimes are.

🔹🔹🔹

Superman has a much different opinion to the bat, he sees a fellow hero with a painfully familiar burden, the destined last of something. at first he latches onto your similarities because he thinks he can comfort you in some way, he sees you shouldering the burden of a world, carrying the weight of your strength, and slowly his motives twist into him needing your comfort. He drinks up your inherent loneliness, You're so similar in some ways that he loses sight of your differences, it's fine though, you're just so similar to him right?

🔹🔹🔹

Wonder woman is somewhat normal about dovahkiin! reader, on the surface she's not clinging into you for shared tragedies and loneliness, she's got an entire island of women like her after all, no she starts falling head first when she watches you fight. She sees someone who's willing to do the unsavory part of hero work just like her, the fire in your eyes and feral snarl on their lips, there's something so... captivating about you when you're a bit bloody. it's mesmerizing.

🔹🔹🔹

Aquaman isn't as intrigued with dovahkiin! reader as the others are, to be fair the mans running an entire kingdom so he doesn't spend as much time with you as the others get to. He thinks the water breathing spells and water walking boots are neat though, and he does enjoy reading the logs the others obsessively write about you, the little details they add put a smile on his face as he imagines your mannerisms and quirks the others find so endearing.

🔹🔹🔹

The Martian manhunter is...Unsure how to feel about you, he's seen so much of you through your mind, the hardships overcome and hard battles fought, the softer more somber moments of reflection, that he feels he's more connected to you than anyone else he thinks you're magnetic, but at the same time he has moments of fear, the fire in your eyes and throat burns as brightly as his home once did. Your power scares him just as much as it pulls him in.

🔹🔹🔹

Green lantern 100% started off getting friendly with you because it pissed Batman off, he loves that there's someone else around that drives the man batty (pun intended) the fact that you're surprisingly entertaining and muscular is just a bonus. And then... He starts to fold, you're just so headstrong that he honestly thinks you could wear a ring, he's thought about jokingly proposing with his right in front of Batman the bend will shout definitely convinces him that you should be a lantern.

The flash actually initially doesn't trust dovahkiin!reader, too many powers, too much time fuckery, you could be an atom bomb with a hairpin trigger. But you're so... Cool at the same time. What do you mean you can talk to dragons? You can make yourself immune to all poisons and toxins with a piece of jewelry you made? The novelty of it is what makes you grow on him, what turns his friendliness into a bit more is seeing your drive to make right, the extremes you'll take to fix a slight done to someone, you look even cooler when you whirlwind sprint through an intersection to catch someone, stop time to take down a villain. He doesn't realize how similar he and Superman are to how they see parts of themselves in dovahkiin!reader

[eat-your-milk]

You can't just list a wip called Feral and not expect me to ask about it 👀

ooohoooo this is one of my favorites! (and-probably not at all what you were thinking of lol)

So! 'Feral' is a somewhat AU where, during the episode 'The Longest Day' When Hiccup goes flying, he gets caught up in a horrible storm, getting thrown from his dragon and ending up adrift in the sea.

When he wakes up, he finds that he washed up on an unknown island without his dragon. Problem is, something seems very wrong. For one, it seems like he is missing some memories, two, there is no way off the island.

As he navigates his new prison, he finds out he is not alone. It seemed the storm washed up another victim, a man with black hair and brown eyes, who Hiccup can't help but feel wary of. He has a similar story to his own, that the last thing he remembers is getting lost in a storm while looking for something, and that his name is Viggo.

As they try to find a way off the island they seem to only hit dead ends. No lumber or grass for a raft, and swimming didn't work either. The farther they get from the island, the more it seems to pull them back.

In fact, the longer they stay, the less they want to leave. Everything they could ever need was on the island: food, water, shelter, and a charming view of the sunsets. Not to mention, the beautiful blue dragons Hiccup named 'Harrowings.' Intelligent and friendly creatures that always hummed a soothing melody, one that cleared your mind and made you relax, made you feel at home.

Meanwhile: Toothless tries desperately to find help. Stranded in the ocean, he swims for miles trying to find land. Instead, he finds a ship with a confused Ryker Grimborn, who has been looking for his brother after he disappeared with no warning.

[starsfic]

prompt: The Lion Camel Ridge Trii participate in the Samadhi Fire removal ritual (maybe Wukong got them a plea bargain, maybe they declared a temporary truce for their ex brother DBK?)

Azure Lion hated this.

He stood back from the ritual with Peng and the pilgrims Wukong had referred to as "brothers." He bit back a comment about the lack of Demon Bull King's "princess" and the celestial soldiers surrounding the site.

He hated everything about this.

"Ready?" the monk called. The answer was a cackle from the baby, gleaming red with such vicious power. He seemed to take it as a proper answer, beginning to chant. Around them, the sigils and marks Wukong had made glowed with power.

For a moment, Azure's breath caught in his throat at the sight of Wukong, dressed in fine armor, gleaming in the sight of red and gold. His focus returned to the issue as the child continued to cackle, the sound growing more maniac and desperate, probably feeling his power leak from him.

The next few seconds felt like an eternity, with chanting and glowing and each member of the circle holding on. Azure found himself holding his breath. Yellowtusk had warned that it would be dangerous. If one slipped up, that could bring the whole world in danger.

Then it happened.

Wukong begin to slip, just a bit. Azure found himself taking a step forward, praying that it was okay. Wukong gritted his teeth, bearing his teeth in a feral grin.

Azure relaxed.

Then Nezha slipped.

The next few seconds seemed to drag down like the ones before. Wukong's eyes grew wide as a piece of the fire sailed through the air and slammed into him.

Azure's memory would forever burn with the scream Wukong let out.

The rings clattered to the ground and DBK caught his feral child. Azure paid no attention to that. "WUKONG!" he yelled, seeing green flash by him.

The monkey writhed on the ground in pain, the symbol of the fire burning on his chest. "GET SOME WATER!" the dragon ordered, transforming into his human form to cup Wukong's head in his robes. "WE NEED TO DO SOMETHING!"

Yellowtusk, the river demon and the monk all rushed up, the last's face drawn and pale. "I have the healing kit," the demon said, pulling out a small chest. "Hopefully we have something-!"

Azure hated it, but he stopped in place.

Wukong was fine.

Nezha was very pale and DBK protectively cradled his child as he turned his eyes to them.

Them, on the other hand...

[beaulesbian]

i need to be more insane about zolu.

they know no bounds to how loyal and trusting they are to each other. luffy heard there was a feral demon pirate hunter back in shells town in prison, and he wanted to see for himself if he would be a good guy for his crew! and after finding that yes, he was - literally eating from his hand, more dirt than the riceballs - he decided he needed him on his crew. and zoro agreed because that stretchy guy brought him back his swords and gave him back the purpose and freedom to chase after his dream. from day 1 they saw eye to eye what was important to them.

it didn't matter to zoro that he was luffy's first crewmember, because he knew it wouldn't stay that way for long, after seeing what he was capable of and how sure of reaching his dream he was. zoro was the first one instantly convinced he was in the presence of the future pirate king. drifting on their small boat, just the two of them, hungry and without a braincell with navigational skills between them.

when luffy was in the cage that buggy trapped him in, he said to zoro to run but only with one look between them zoro read that as 'fire the canon', so he did, and nami just looked between them like 'are they insane?' (yes, they are), and then zoro proceeded to pick up the cage with luffy while bleeding out and got him to safety.

in alabasta they were rushing to escape before they drowned and luffy still asked him to save smoker, and zoro wouldn't otherwise do that, but he trusted luffy to know what was he thinking. and when he didn't know what he was thinking (like whiskey peak) they fought but they were on the same strength level, and in the end it sorted itself out.

zoro didn't mind to listen to luffy when he ordered not to fight back (on jaya), but called him out when the situation needed it - when he needed to sit down and listen to his words and respect their crew to their full potential (enies lobby), and luffy did.

traveling from water 7, luffy knew he could call on zoro to cut that train ahead of them, because he always knew to trust in zoro's skills. ever since skypiea - even if their enemy was too strong for zoro - he still tried. so luffy trusted him again and again, to leave some battles just for him. like the dragon on punk hazard, like pica in dressrosa.

yes, zoro could be a captain of his own crew, as many people who encounter the strawhats always seem to think, but he wouldn't even be a pirate in the first place if it wasn't for luffy, and wouldn't be on any other crew, for that matter.

so it was a no brainer for what he did at thriller bark. it was necessary because he wouldn't be able to follow his dream - to become the world's greatest swordsman as he promised both to kuina and luffy - without his captain. that future would be meaningless. he made a promise, so he took his pain, but instead of dying from that burden - he lived. he lived with it and got stronger thanks to it.

when luffy was going through the worst moments of his life, he knew that back on sabaody in two years, his crew and zoro would be waiting for him to come back to them. they needed him just as much as he needed them.

some time later, when they needed to part for short while, luffy would rest easily without worrying about his crew because they'd be with zoro, and he would see them all soon again!

and be it by luck or fate or destiny, it was zoro whom luffy found first of the strawhats in wano, and he could only leap through the air to give zoro the biggest hug, happy to see him again, with zoro grinning back at him.

[larkspurblue]

Alright I'm on my period (pain) and in a monsterfucker mood so, here's how I imagine several of my fave monsters would react to their s/o on shark week

Dragon: I imagine these guys run hot, so you'd have easy access to what's basically a massive heat pack that's eager to please and probably going to be a little smug about it. You are the centerpiece of their hoard and dragons take great pride in keeping what is theirs in top condition. Expect to be pampered as they see fit and to have your every want and desire tended to. Need something? Don't even think of getting up, they'll get it for you. Cravings? Already stocked up on all your favorites. Want comfort? You'll be snuggled up to and curled around like a teddy bear. There will probably be a heat pack for when your dragon can't be around (probably because they're running errands for you), but expect those times to be few and far between. Overall, dragons will take this time of the month as a way to prove just how attentive and capable they are. Please reward with lots of pats and kisses.

Drider: PANIC. Driders have an incredible sense of smell and will know you're on your period the moment that you start. No matter how many times it happens, their first and instinctual reaction to smelling blood on you will always be concern that you've been injured in some way. This feeling can be hard to shake off, so don't be surprised if they get particularly anxious or hovering. Driders take their mate's health very seriously and have no patience for anything threatening that, including you, so you won't have to worry about not having what you need but you will have to worry about upsetting your drider by not looking after yourself to their standard. For example, if you skip a meal under their watchful eyes, you'll be pestered about not getting the energy and nutrients you need until you give in. And big one, take extreme measures to reassure them that you're not overexerting, or you might find yourself relegated to a bed or couch for resting, cocooned until you're deemed ready to get up and not a moment sooner.

Robot: Honestly most of the time you probably think they don't know that you're on your period until you tell them, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. The more humanoid robots/commercial androids will probably act like any other caring human lover, while the less human ones will be curious if the relationship is new and might need some explaining. But no matter the make, your robot s/o will be monitoring your biometrics 24/7 and constantly looking for ways to help. You may not notice, but they'll be setting down a glass of water any time you need to hydrate, organizing your things to make everything easier to find, adjusting the room temperature and humidity and brightness to your liking, and ordering anything you need before you're even aware that you need it. I mean, now that you think about it, when was the last time you needed to restock your painkillers, replace a heat pack, or get more pads/tampons? That's right...

Bonus: Writing "shark week" at the top of this made me think like... wait what about being on your period with a shark mer around. Can I just say there's no way they would be any kind of normal about it. Good luck handling your absolutely fucking feral mer, you're going to need it because the way you smell hits about five different primal urges and every interaction is like spinning a wheel and seeing what you hit. Have fun being either smothered in affection or fretted over or hunted or hunted for or jumped.

[pastel-omegas-blog]

Manor of Roses 🥀

Chapter one

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️𝕎𝔸ℝℕ𝕀ℕ𝔾!!! 𝕎𝕀𝕃𝕃 ℂ𝕆ℕ𝕋𝔸𝕀ℕ 𝕄𝔸𝕋𝕌ℝ𝔼 𝕋ℍ𝔼𝕄𝔼𝕊 𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕍𝕀𝕆𝕃𝔼ℕℂ𝔼 ( 𝕄𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝔹𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕠𝕣, 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕/𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖, 𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕖.) ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

Alistair Dove

The ruling lord of an independent territory that was  out of sight and hidden from the general populace, a territory known as the ' Field of Lillie's ' that lived their own lives free from outside influence.

A place had been described as '  The heavens on earth ' by the few people who had been privileged enough to be  allowed entry into the mysterious and closed off land.

They called it a utopia that hadn't been tainted by the evil and cruelness of the world.

A land were it's citizens lived in  peace without any stress or panic of monster attack, famine or fear of any life threatening diseases breaking out.

It was a land that was described to be flowing with milk and honey.

With rich fertile lands that bore sweet fruits and bountiful harvests almost all year round.

Clear skies, clear flowing rivers and streams all stretching as far as the eye could see.

It was a sight that  remained people that wonders, fulfillment and peace could still be found in this world that was being plagued by war, death and famine.

With a world currently thrown into war and chaos because of the demon kings invasion.

 The only thing separating it from the outside world was the huge wall of Lillie's rising up into the sky grow around every inch of the territory acting as a barrier to separate and isolate  from the rest of the harsh world ( the barrier giving the place it's name ) 

While the land behind these walls remained safe and tranquil the rest of the world had been thrown into hopelessness.

The skies were a haunting blood red, a colour that took over the once blue skies the day the demon lord attacked, even in the night the haunting colour would remain dying the skies.

The red rays of the sun made the lands barren, Crops and  grass life were shrinking and becoming withered eventually dying off, the grounds becoming baked and harden making it almost impossible to plant new grain.

The livestocks were falling I'll to an unknown disease that caused the animals to become hollow husks of skin and bones that would eventually die off.

  The lack of food for the people to eat had caused a great famine take over the land, making people do the unimaginable things to survive

the streams, rivers, oceans and seas were drying up with every day that passed making water becoming harder to find and any water pound filled to the brim had already been infested with an inky blackness that killed anyone desperate enough to drink it.

The ever growing mountain of corpses had led to foul diseases  sweeping over the land.

Feral månå beasts and monsters wrecked havoc on the already suffering land, killing what was left of the people trying to survive.

But the Field of Lillie's was a place unaware of the suffering of the rest of the world.

And with such a blessed land free from the struggles of the outside it was only natural for the people who reside in it to be happy and kind hearted souls, who had not a single worry in the world.

With such a land that catered to its peoples every needs it wasn't much of a surprise that the people were all very welcoming and nice to everyone.

There was no social class separating anyone.

Even though the place held recessive alphas and omegas , They weren't elevated above the betters nor did they act like they were superiors, there was no such things as nobles or peasants.

There was no oppression amongst the people midst.

No discrimination amongst people of different species.

Hybrids, elves, goblins, orcs, sirens, dragon borns etc, all stayed together without having any contempt towards one another.

No slums.

No one suffering.

No  pain.

It was just people living together in peace and harmony with everyone doing their part to help in the community.

Visitors who had been fortune enough to enter would always talk non stop about the peoples welcoming aura.

Their kind smiles, their incredible hospitality, their wonderful personalities.

And ruling over these kind souls was none other than Alistair.

He was like a painting  that depicted the raw essence of purity and innocence.

With a heart of gold he had taken up the demanding role of being the figure head that watched over and catered to the needs of his people 

Yet he still had an air of authority around him that made him a capable and well respected leader.

A beautiful  elven dominant omega with a lovely feminine face.

With pale Ivory skin that resembled that of a porcelain doll.

He had Long pale silvery white hair that was always tied neatly in a bun with silk ribbons, his front bangs dropping to cover his left eye.

His right eye that was visible had thick long silvery lashes that fluttered on the top of his cheek bones whenever he blinked.

The colour of his eye was a breathtaking shade cerulean  blue, one that seemed to send people into a trance whenever they made eye contact with him as the feeling of Serenity and peace seemed to take over their being.

A rosey pink blush dusted his pale cheek and his thin, glossy pink lips always seemed to be stretched into a sweet smile.

His slender feminine figure was clothed in flowy white silk robes with pretty embroideries of Lillie's  that accentuated his form.

An air of elegance and kindness seemed to seep off him.

Even though the territory was hidden from the eyes of others as it wanted to separate itself from the harsh political environment of others places, the elven omega and his people had sent out food stuff and medical aid hoping to help them, even though they could easily ignore what was going on and focus solely on themselves.

Their kindness would not let them sit down ideally and watch others suffer when they could do something to help relieve the pain.

And it with such a kind heart he had accepted to house the heroes party that was destined to slay the demon king.

Even if doing so would create a huge target on the backs of him and his people.

Alistair had told them he would provide everything during their stay and that the magic of the walls would be enough to fend against the demon kings dark arts and that he would be at their beck and call for whatever they needed during their stay in his manor as they rejuvenated themselves .

So here they were relaxing in the pretty gardens of the Dove manor as the villagers attended to their every needs.

The heroes who were destined to slay the demon king were all taking a much deserved rest.

Under the soft rays of the surprisingly blue sky's they could laze around without the constant threat of death looming over their shoulders.

" Aah~ This is the life "  a brown haired elven man said as he stretched his body letting out a content sigh when a bone popped going to snuggle in his hammock under the relaxing shade of a tree.

" You've got that right captain " the deep voice of a dragon hybrid chimed in as he brought a huge jug of fresh grape wine to his lips chugging the rich liquid down in large chucks, stretching the jug out to a scantly dressed woman to pour another round for him.

" I can't remember the last time I was able to laze around like this. A change from constantly worrying about our necks and one I'm enjoying " a fox hybrid said sleepy as he stretched his joints until he felt a satisfied pop, before going back to resting on the tree branch of the apple he had been sleeping on stretching a hand to grab a bright red apple, bringing it to his lips to take a satisfying a bite out of it.

" The religion might differ from that of the empire, yet they managed to escape the ire of the demon king. How very fascinating. " A pretty dark fairy woman dressed in white holy robes, her pretty pink hair hidden under the veil on her head said as she sat on the lush green grass under the shade of a giant tree reading the land's holy scriptures.

Yes.

Almost every member of the heroes party seemed be enjoying their well deserved break.

Everyone except their human healer, a ' beta ' commoner named M/N.

Something about this whole place just........... rubbed him the wrong way.

Everytime he tired to enjoy himself like the others his stomach would tie itself into knots and his guy would star screaming at him to get away from here.

And he also couldn't knock off the feeling that someone was constantly watching him.

Besides they had been there for far to long.

What was originally supposed to be a two days rest had now turned to a stay of three months.

And every single day the demon king got stronger.

And it wasn't as if the rest had been training their hardest to get stronger so they could defeat their enemy.

Instead of training they had been spending their days leisuring around without a care in the world and with each passing day they tried to down play the war  happening outside the giant lily walls.

It was almost as if the land was influencing them to abandon their mission of slaying the demon king ( he wasn't accusing the people and their leader of using dark magic, but his gut told him that had to be it, because only dark magic would be able to have effect in controlling the mind of the gods chosen ones )

But everytime he tried to bring it up to the others he was met with.......... A bit of resistance.

" U.....um Tresyil  d... don't you think it's time w...we  start m.. moving ? "

The s/c man's soft voice spoke up as he questioned his leader  and the once warm and tranquil air became cold and over bearing.

The human felt his breath hitch in his throat as all everyone turned their attention to him, their gazes cold and condescending.

" Oh ? Since when did you become the leader of the party that you think you can start giving out orders "

The once jovial voice of the party's brown haired captain was now cold and authoritative, one that made the h/c man freeze in his spot as panic bubbled in his chest knowing what the other was implying.

 When did a flithy human start to question the decisions of a pure blood elf ?

" N..no! T...that's not w.. what I meant-AAH!" the h/c tired to defend himself only for an empty wooden jug to slam into his forehead causing a yelp of pain to leave his lips as his hands flew up to nurse the forming bruise.

" YOU SHUT YER TRAP YOU FILTHY ÅHENAKI OR I'LL COME THERE TO DO IT FER YA !!! " 

The dragon hybrid hollered out a pissed off expression on his face as he was struggling to get up from his seat, only been calmed down by the scantily dressed women by his side.

M/N winced in pain biting the inside of his cheek to force his whimpers down, not wanting to agitate the other any further.

" Now now Reigon you should calm your self down, you wouldn't want to destroy anything and upset our hosts who have been so awfully kind to us " the fairy folk spoke up causing the dragon to turn his attention towards her.

" I'm not causing any trouble Eva!!! It's the filthy Åhenaki that refuses to know it's place "

Reigon grumbled out with a huff, leaning into the touch of the beautiful women around as they whispered praises into his ears that calmed him down.

" Still not an accuse. You could have damaged that jug just now " the nun replied more worried about the jug than her teammate who's wound was beginning to bleed.

" She's right you know " Tresyil spoke up and the fairy nodded her head at her Captain's support.

" That was uncalled for.  You could have broken that and that would have made Alistair disappointed  " the brown haired elven man said and the dragon hybrid flinched at his words.

" Y..yer right cap'n Lord Dove wouldn't be happy about that. My bad " the dragon hybrid apologized and elf nodded his head in understanding.

" It's okay ....." The brown haired man stared, his eyes going to glare at the human who let out a soft whimper of fear 

" After all you were simply reminding something to know it's place "

M/N felt overwhelming shame and embarrassment fill him to the brim and he fought back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks.

Looking at the direction of where the fox hybrid was staying watching the whole ' show ' go down the h/c man hoped he would speak to the rest of their teammates and tell them to go easier on him.

Like he always did.

But instead the man simply looked away unbothered as he continued eating his apple 

Knowing his presence was not needed the human ( and not wanting to listen to the hateful things that would be directed at him if he stayed any longer ) M/N quickly gathered himself and sputtered out excuses before leaving the midst of the heroes.

Cerulean blue eye watched the interaction from afar, a frown tugging down the owners lips as he watched the human leave.

" He still hasn't fallen for the illusion "to man mumbled to himself in annoyance.

Even someone as powerful as him was finding it hard to put a simple human under his control, if the others should find out they would never let him hear the end of it.

" Looks like I need to get rid of him personally" he said with a tired sigh as he started walking away.

Other than the bloody mess he was about to make ( one that he wouldn't be cleaning up ) he has no worries.

It was clear the others had no interest in the well being of the human so getting rid of him would probably make them fall faster for his mind control.

Now that that was settled all that was left of now was to dispose of the nuisance.

‡CLASS HIERARCHY‡

DOMINANT ALPHAS

Are the highest of the whole tier and can control the others.

They have very large body frames and can stand from 6 - 9 feet at times.

*Note* some hybrid species can grow taller and bigger than this

Their pheromones are so strong that even Betas can perceive them and easily get manipulated by it, they have the same effect on omegas, but dominant omegas ate able to resist it a bit.

They usually come from higher noble back grounds,but can be found in middle class as well, but their usually illegitimate children who have royal or higher ranking noble blood in their veins

Ruts usually have a strong effect on them and make them lose themselves to instincts. It tends to last for five days to a week and in the time they are constantly try to make sure their seed is buried deep within their partners.

Ruts can last a few days longer if they are one that uses frequently superssants.

RECESSIVE ALPHAS:

They are more common than Dominant Alphas, but their body frame and height is not as daunting as their Dominant counter parts , standing from 6 - 8 feet.

*Note* some hybrid species can still grow taller than this

Their scents are also not as strong, but they can still attract recessive omegas and betas with not much difficulty, there is a very strong resistance with dominant omegas though.

Female Recessive alphas also have the ability to get pregnant, but by dominant alphas only.

Majority of them tend to lack the  pseudo penis in their Virgina like female dominant alphas do and even if they do, most noble families usually perform surgeries to get rid of it so they can engage them off to either male recessive alphas or any gender dominant alphas  to increase chances of pregnancy.

They go through heat, but it is very weak and only causes them slight discomfort and some don't even experience it all all.

The highest the heats tend to last for the ones who do experience it is a day and a half.

Male recessive alphas experience rut, but it doesn't affect as severely as their dominant counterparts, but they still loose control and tend to succumb to their instincts. It usually lasts for 3 - 5 days.

BETAS:

They are very common in this world making at least 51% of the total population.

They also have scents but theirs are very weak compared to the Alphas and omegas.

  How strong one's pheromones determine their worth.

Betas have very little pheromones making them worthless in the eyes of alphas and omegas.

They also cannot perceive pheromones all that well ( unless the person is from the dominant hierarchy ) so they usually use body build to determine what the second gender of a person is or they ask.

Female betas also experience heat , but theirs is not as painful as an omega, but is more serious than a female Recessive alphas and lasts for 2 days maximum.

They can usually go through it without the help of a mate, but their fertility levels are not that high.

All betas are  commoners and peasants folk and unless they've had a history of other classes in their family tree it will remain that way.

They are seen as lesser in this society.

DOMINANT OMEGAS:

Are the most sought out of Omegas since they have very beautiful appearances and  very alluring pheromones.

Their fertility level is also very high and in some rare cases they can carry 3 to 5 pups at a time.

Like Dominant Alphas, Dominant omegas are mostly found in higher noble families or in the royal bloodline, but can be found in middle class or poorer noble backgrounds as well ( this happens in very rare cases )

A dominant omega's heat can last for a week but can also become week an a half if they are one to constantly use superssants 

In some rare cases they don't experience heats until much later in their life due to stress or over working 

RECESSIVE OMEGAS

 They are also very pretty and have nice pheromones, but  their scents are not as strong as their dominant counter parts.

Their heats usually last up to five days.

They don't have high fertility rates as well and can only have one or two pups throughout their life time, but there's a reason for this.

Their class can get pregnant and also make their dominant counter parts pregnant as well, so marriages between the two omega classes do happen, although very rarely since majority of the time both classes prefer alpha partners

HUMANS 

Humans are creatures that have been condemned by the holy scriptures of all empires, nations, countries and kingdoms for being the children of a rouge deity that caused destruction and chaos by disturbing the peace of the gods and goddesses in the heavens.

By the holy scriptures humans and are a few other species are the ones that are written to not have received blessings from the goddess of light, the god of wind and the the god of nature, the three major gods that are being worshipped in the religion of Luveriux.

 Humanity is seen as a dirt and a mistake in the perfect society of mythics and hybrids as they lack the ability to wield strong månå attributes and physical strength.

 Where hated because of the words of the holy scriptures but the hate and brutality against this species became worse after they tried to ' wage war ' on the mythics which led to over 95 percent of their population being wiped out.

 The war itself happened over a millennia ago and not much is known other than how brutally the humans lost.

 Because of the outcome of the war humans are now treated worse than before.

Humans themselves are now very rare and are going extinct little by with less than a hundred full blooded humans walking around ( this number is unknown and believed to be smaller )

 Not much is actually know about this species.

This work is just an excuse to create a new dominant omega oc and a porn with plot story. Stay tuned for future updates.

Also here's my Twitter account give me a follow if your up to and like my art will post art of Alistair latter today.

https://twitter.com/Pastel_63

[islandtarochips]

Monster!AU Lore #2: Blood Scent, Mask Covering, Shock Collars and Water Pack Explanation

Ok. I just wanna share some lore for my COD OCs in the Monster AU. This monster AU was created by @bluegiragi LOVE their Monster AU, man. It was AWESOME!

Anyway, I would like to explain some things about some materials that I think will help some monsters that the Military have provided for them. And explaining about some monsters reacting to human blood.

So I have been discussing this with my dear friend, @forestgreenbunny. Asking for some advice and some of her opinions for it.

Blood Scent:

Ok, as I remember for Tiala and Kanoa's kind of being shark hybrids. I remember that one scene that King Shark will go CRAZY once tasting or smelling human blood. He's not FOND with it. And that gives me the idea of the same reaction for Tiala and Kanoa. These siblings did their best to AVOID human blood. Not tasting it or even smelling it.

If you’re going to ask about their reaction with monster blood. That won’t affect them. Monster’s blood is quite different from human blood. Like different DNA obviously. So they’re okay to attack any monsters.

Now for the HYBRIDS. If there’s a monster who is half-human. Can Tiala and Kanoa go feral if they scent a hybrid human blood if they bleed? That…I do not know yet. I would say it DEPENDS on their blood scent. Since I know that any monster hybrids, who are half human, may have SOME human blood. Maybe it depends on how strong that human blood smells to them. I’m still thinking about it. OR if you guys have any suggestions, opinions or ideas about it! Comment down below!

So they’re VERY careful around humans. Because ONE drop of taste or even the smell of it. They WILL go feral or go on a killing spree to get their prey. Sharks are pretty fierce and dangerous when it comes to getting their prey. In this AU I mean. So it’s hard for the two of them to control it. You can see that their eyes will be full on black. And WILL kill anyone that gets in their way. Even other monsters that has problem of controlling it from reacting to blood.

So that’s why the military have decided to make two objects to help them PREVENTING of hurting any human being if they scent their blood!

Which is-

1st Material - Mask:

The mask is like a ski kind of military mask! (The one above there)

Ok! So, I have told my friend that I was thinking that the military had made masks for any monsters to cover their mouth and nose. From interacting with any human blood. Good materials for it! But the monsters still need to pull it down if they need to track down OTHER scent besides blood.

But the mask only covers the mouth, nose and the neck. Not covering the head. Although, for some other monsters they can have a full on ski masks if they want.

And don’t worry about Tiala and Kanoa using their gills! They can shapeshift it to normal! Like showing no gills at all! Since they ARE half human and Hybrids. So it’s possible for them to shape themselves into humans. Just like how Price did from his human form to his dragon form (if you saw it in bluegiragi’s post).

So it’s easy for them to use the ski mask that the military had made and provided, to breathe easily through their nose and mouth.

The military had made a good full proof mask for monsters. Gathering good materials and a bit of technology magic or whatever. Everything has been made accordingly that the government wanted. It’s also very stretchable and it wouldn't be ripped off easily. It’s very nice and expensive. Lol.

2nd Material - Shock Collar:

Shock Collar does sound a bit cruel for them to use on monsters. But it is safe for humans whenever they work with them. Tiala and Kanoa always wear them before or after their missions. To help them control their animalistic instincts or control their hunger whenever they smell or taste blood. They can’t use it during missions because the shock collar WILL jeopardize the mission as like a distractions. So the humans trusted them to control it when they went out.

Gotta tell you they don’t like it but they know that it’s for the best. Safety for their team and others.

Like I said before it’s cruel but it’s a double-edged sword. That’s what people use these words these days. It’s a good and bad situation but they have no other choice. And if you’re asking WHY would the military keep the most dangerous monsters in their base? Well, to protect their country though. They may be dangerous but they do find a way to keep them behaving and in line. But if the monsters or hybrids learn how to control their monster side then there’s no need for them to use shock collars.

Dangerous, I know but it shows some trust between humans and monsters. Since that’s how I see it.

And since we got the two objects down of how the Sea or freshwater creatures prevent themselves from hurting any human beings. Here is this one object that will HELP them to survive on land.

Which is this-

3rd Material - Water Pack:

So the waterpack! The Waterpack is what I made in my head for any water or sea creatures! Since there are some certain hybrid sea or water creatures that might have a hard time being on land. Like for Tiala and Kanoa being shark hybrids of course. They can’t handle being on land. Like mostly the heat temperatures.

So it should look like the one above that is showing. But try to think of it as a bulletproof vest that most military use.

The waterpack helps the sea or water creature/hybrids to stay hydrated during the mission. They can drink from it with a kind of rope straw for the packs or just use bottles for the waist. Like this one down here:

Whichever is easier for them to use!

But not every sea/water monster or hybrids can drink the same water.

For example, Tiala and Kanoa shark type is the Great White Shark. Which means that they are a SEA Creature type so they will only have to breathe or drink SEAWATER. And for Agnes, who is an electric eel and electric eel swims in FRESHWATER. She would have to drink or swim into Freshwater.

If you want to know what would happen……best for you to look up for googles from there. Ehehe.

So anyway, the sea or water creatures should make sure to have their own waters for themselves. And the waterpack can be refilled too! If they find any nearby ponds, rivers or shores. They will use it to fill up their jugs!

So those are the three objects that will help Tiala and Kanoa and even other monsters.

And that's about it for me to share this info! @bluegiragi Monster AU has inspired me so much that I want to do it for my OCs for it! I got so excited that I wanted to share these with you guys! So thank you for reading this far! And I shall post more about these if I have any and might change this if I have any in mind! So thank you! Love ya, peles!

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[feral-childs-word]

"I love you"

🪷 Lovesick prince x warlord reader

🌺 Warning- kidnaping, blood, menton of sex

🪷 I love men ❤️❤️

🌺 This was a fast because I got sick and tired of the fact I had to stare at this work for a long time and it honestly pisses me off so badly.

being a prince was hard. Especially being the first son of a king from a rich kingdom.

Kaiden was the first born of his 4 siblings. But as a first born his greed was greater. Wanting the attention and riches just for him.

His family is arrogant mainly like himself because of the riches they possess.

Everything was perfect for Kaiden

Until you came into the picture.

The warlord of a faraway kingdom. People say you were born with the gift of dragons blood running in your veins. Others say you possess the power of a demon. But they were just rumors.

Kaiden heard of you how could he not? People speak of you like you were some god giving hope and a life for the poor and helpless. But for the rich you were like a mad dog spilling blood just for the fun of it.

Kaiden couldn't think of anything else at the moment you toward him. The blood of the soldiers that dared to come across you now dripping and drying slowly on your armor.

The places he used to enjoy now engulfed in flames that danced in the night sky.

Your army cheering while they hunt like they were rabid dogs also drinking and eating the food that they refused to burn goes to waste.

Finding out that the others the rich and the royals locked themselves in a large cell made with gold hiding from the bloodshed and punishment. Leaving only Kaiden behind to fend for himself.

Know matter how he screamed begged and kicked it was all in death's ears to you as you dragged him away from the place he calls home.

During his time with you to the kingdom that was yours up from the mountains in the north. He rather say it was enjoyable.

The men are polite and kind to him asking him if he needed anything like their mother's were the ones that raised them and not their fathers.

They offer him food and water time to time not minding that they are giving a portion of their food.

But you on the other hand. You were so sweet it made his heart flutter unlike any man he was asked out before.

You were absolutely handsome. Your face when you took your blood coated helmet was magnificent to see while on the bumpy horse ride. Kaiden looked at every inch of your face. To each big and small scars to the structure of your face seeing how your face structure was perfect.

But Kaiden was stubborn and refused to admit he was in love. But he sometimes couldn't resist.

Like one day while in the deep woods in the north it was winter time that day and everything was freezing and the snow was slowly falling. Your men and yourself didn't mind the cold but Kaiden living in such a warm area he didn't need to be worried about getting cold up until now. So being the gentleman you are despite being a feral beast in the field gave him your coat.

For you it was a decent size coat but for Kaiden it was fucking huge. Engulfing him the moment you place it in his shoulders.

It smelled so nice. Like pine wood and the first smell of winter for some odd reason. Surprisingly it wasn't a metallic smell of blood or something else.

Clutching on that coat like it was his last life. His head swooned from the kind gesture.

He still wears that coat to this day.

Least to say Kaiden was awe struck once seeing your kingdom.

It was beautiful, lovely, and alive. Little children running across the street not caring for the world. Farmers working on the fields or their cattle for the upcoming winter.

Ladies carrying fruits, pastries, and other things to their loved ones or the ones not holding anything returning from work or just watching their child play.

It was so much more lively unlike his. He remembers how poor and desperate his people were. Begging for anything to survive. Yet his father paid no attention to any of them and drank himself drunk.

Once inside your castle he was surprised how there weren't many servants. Only a few maids and butlers.

But he found out later that it was because of an issue that happened a couple months back.

Kaiden didn't mind. He was to in-love with you to care about the rumors and whispers. he already saw how sweet you were.

He didn't mind if he was married to you which was only so his father could give what you wanted which his father was still refusing like always.

Kaiden not caring for his kingdom anymore. He was ecstatic hearing the news that he was marrying you. Like this was all planned before hand.

The maids cleaning him up and dressing him in such a pretty wedding dress and dazzling makeup. He felt beautiful like those princesses in those fairytale books.

His pretty black hair pinned up into a braided bun. The makeup showing how beautiful he truly was and his white gown decorated in dazzling white opals and diamonds with patters that were hand made.

Now he truly felt like a wife as he walked down the aisle. The dukes, duchess, and even your men were there watching him walk down the aisle. While you were standing there with the priest.

The love was stronger for Kaiden when he looked at you while the priest was talking. Even when you placed that beautiful handcrafted ring on his finger and the plain ring on your finger. And especially when you both shared a kiss when everything was said.

Now Kaiden was dubbed queen of the land not a prince anymore.

And he felt pride in that despite being kidnapped and forced to leave his hometown.

He gets anything he wants

All the riches, the food, clothes, and all the outings, and even the sex!

No matter what or the circumstance he will always be by his husband's side even when he has to get his soft hands dirty if someone dares to try to take his lover away.

[werewolves-are-real]

Time Travel Temeraire snippet

At first, Laurence assumes he's dead.

It's a natural conclusion. He remembers dying, after all.

He and Tenzing were at a function hosted by Wellesley. They were mostly there to support the dragons. Temeraire had long abandoned them to quarrel with Perscitia in the courtyard, with half a dozen ferals watching like it were a jousting match. Wellesley had laid out his grounds to allow room for dragons and men to mingle, but a good portion of the guests retreated inside to avoid the raised voices of the dragons.

Laurence wonders how Temeraire felt about that, later. About not seeing.

He was stabbed. He barely remembers it – just a quick pulse of pain in his chest, looking down. Red blooming over his coat.

Then he was on the floor. People screamed. Tenzing appeared, grappling with a tall and finely-dressed man; he used a dinner-knife to punch a hole in the stranger's throat, in a fantastic spray of blood, and dropped the body at once to kneel by Laurence's side.

He remembers Wellesley barking orders – bandages, water, a hot knife. Have to cauterize it, he'd shouted. Keep pressure -

But Tenzing never spoke. Just pressed down on Laurence's chest, over the wound, without particular panic. Laurence still remembers the grim resignation on his face; Tenzing knew what was coming. Laurence was glad to have him there when he died.

Then Laurence woke up.

The world sways in a familiar way, a rhythmic motion that Laurence registers on a soul-deep level. He's on a ship. But why? Where is Tenzing, Temeraire? Why would they put him on a ship?

“I think the fever's breaking,” says a voice. A naval doctor, disheveled and salt-stained, with long scars down his bared arms. “Oh, and awake too!”

“Well thank Christ,” says another man. One Laurence recognizes.

It's Captain Gerry Stuart – but he looks different, younger than the last time Laurence saw him, with smooth skin and dark curly hair.

Gerry died two years ago.

“Well, Lieutenant! You gave us a scare – how are you feeling?” Gerry asks.

“It's Admiral,” Laurence corrects rather than all the other things he does not dare ask. He hates the title foisted upon him; but it's at least more comprehensible than Lieutenant, and he clings to that rather than demand where did you come from.

Stuart throws back his head to cackle, though the concern doesn't leave his face. “Still perhaps a bit feverish, I think!”

“That might be the laudanum,” says the doctor, also amused. “Why don't you sleep a bit more, Lieutenant?”

“But where is Temeraire? Or Tenzing?”

“I can only assume you had some very vivid dreams,” Stuart chuckles. “You were babbling and babbling for Temeraire – isn't that a ship?”

“Perhaps the flagship of his fleet,” suggests the doctor, and Stuart laughs again. “Get some rest, Mr. Laurence. Holler if you need me.”

They both exit the sick-berth. Laurence stares blankly at the door.

What?

Laurence pats his chest. No wound. He looks down, startled by the pale thinness of his fingers, his youth-soft skin.

Well; not soft. Callouses cover his hands. But even these patterns are different – hard skin in places where he would hold a sword, or pulls ropes. His hands should be more wrinkled, yes; but these callouses faded years ago.

“Where am I?” he asks when the doctor returns. “And what is the year?”

“The year? 1793. You don't remember?”

1793. Laurence was 19 in 1793. A lieutenant for two years, on the Shorewise.

The doctor narrows his eyes. “What's my name, lad?”

Laurence swallows. His stomach churns; for the life of him he can't remember.

The doctor rushes off to retrieve the captain.

_____________________________

Laurence is diagnosed with brain fever, and partial amnesia. Gerry is horribly guilty about laughing, earlier; Laurence could not care less. He is given strict orders to stay on bed-rest for another week, in hope his strength will recover – and his mind.

Laurence doesn't think he'll have any issues working – he's forgotten many of the people around him, true, but he may never forget the way to run a ship. He's far more concerned with learning what happened.

From all appearances, it is indeed 1793. France is undergoing riots, and declared war against Britain in February. Temeraire has not hatched. Napoleon is probably a corporal or general himself, at this point. If he exists at all. God knows, perhaps Laurence is only mad.

But he doesn't feel mad. His memories are too vivid to be mere fever-dreams. A man cannot dream up twenty years of life!

But neither can a man go back to his youth, and live it all again.

I have a dragon, he thinks of saying. There is no war, because I captured Napoleon – an unknown man who makes himself emperor.

Mad. It sounds mad even to Laurence himself. But to imagine that Temeraire was a fever-ridden dream... Tenzing and Granby and China, all of it...

Laurence doesn't share his turmoil with anyone – not even with Gerry, who checks on him fretfully. After a week the doctor declares him well enough, physically. He's paired always with another lieutenant for the first few days on duty, and his shipmates watch him carefully for signs of permanent debilitation; but aside from a moment or two of hesitance, Laurence competently resumes his duties. The oversight lessens.

Laurence thinks about writing letters.

He thinks about writing to Tharkay's late father, who ought to still be alive, inquiring after his son. He thinks of writing to Prince Mianning, asking about the health of Lung Tien Qian. He thinks of writing to young Midshipman Granby, his unwed brother, his dead father...

Not all of them would reply. But he could ask questions. Could verify the truth of things. Unless this, instead, is the delusion.

Is he in 1793, imagining the future? Is he in the future, imagining the past? Or maybe he is already dead, and this is the reality of hell. He came here burning with fever, and now he burns with fear. Surely that is it's own form of torture.

Laurence is ironically given the task of tutoring the midshipman and lieutenant-hopefuls more than any other duty as the weeks pass; his crewmates still look askance, and the more eager of the midshipman become protective. Laurence remains perfectly capable of command; it is only that he can't help but be absent-minded, sometimes, staring at all the crewmen that pass him like they are nothing but moving paintings. Images of a world that no longer matters.

One evening the midshipmen drag him away to a meal with the other officers. It's a noisy crowd; Laurence would find the friendly bustle comforting in another life.

One of the senior officers, Lieutenant Moore, waves him down as Laurence enters. Evidently they used to be friends, given his notably concerned behavior of late. Laurence can't remember the man, and has a sneaking suspicion he died too soon to make a lasting impression.Moore jostles him when Laurence sits at the long table. “Will! Did you get any letters with the last batch?”

A patrolling gunboat brought a satchel of letters just this morning. “I did not,” Laurence says. He's grateful for the fact. He'd found a few pieces of correspondence in his quarters that he dutifully sent on; he cannot imagine writing a letter now, in this confused state.

“Then you've had no news! Robespierre has gone mad. Madder than before, I suppose.”

“Robespierre?” asks Laurence blankly.

Lieutenant Moore double-takes, as does everyone else around them. “Good lord, Will, please tell me you remember Robespierre?”

Right... Robespierre's reign was brief, but this is when he led France. Some of the things the papers published...

Well, at least Laurence has a well-worn excuse for his ignorance. He plays up his malady: “Yes. I think I recall he was... French?”

Groans of horror mixed with amusement echo around the table. “...Well you aren't wrong,” says Moore, looking pained. “He has styled himself the 'President' of their Assembly, which is some stupid way of being king; the French are all mad about removing and adding words right now. I don't know how they expect anyone to hold a conversation.”

“We should... probably educate Mr. Laurence about the war at some point,” some midshipman mutters. Laurence doesn't recall his name.

Moore sighs again. “Anyway. Robespierre is a tyrant, of course. But he's elected someone else to rule France! Barely more than a boy, too.”

Laurence frowns; he doesn't remember what Moore's talking about. “Why would he do that? Did they capture one of the Bourbons?” Declaring himself regent of a child-prince would at least make sense.

“Well, at least you remember them. No; it is some nobody, a young soldier. Not even French! I cannot fathom it.”

It feels like Laurence has been dunked in ice.

For a moment he can't respond. “What was his name? The soldier.”

“Napoleon Bonaparte. He has been chosen as head of their new heresy, the 'Cult of the Supreme Being,' they're calling it; and now de facto head of the government, too. Must be a priest? I don't know, nothing the French are doing makes sense. I expect his little group will be as short-lived as everything else about these riots.”

But Laurence doesn't think so. “...Excuse me; I'm feeling a bit poorly,” he says, rising on wavering legs.

“Yes, you look it! Go on, we'll tell you about the war later...”

Laurence flees.